Angelina

Oh Angelina, aren't we lucky to live in this odd little 
world? Aren't we lucky to stand in this funeral line? And 
if we marry, I'll kiss every tear from her eyes, if we 
marry, I'll love every word from her lovely young mouth, 
and we'll drive past the violent blooms of the opulent 
south...
We walked past the cathedrals,
and the lampposts all humming, and I told her that though I
 can't bend back the barbs of these wires, aren't we lucky 
to live in this world full of fire, and I told her about 
how you would sing for your life as a child, and I showed 
her azaleas and books of pressed flowers you pulled wild, 
and I told her how lucky was all that I ever have been, and
 will you marry me, Kimberly Anne?