Mint tongues wag at the altar;
The party climbs so in time.
Silver strands of young guitars
Crush the priest’s blue velvet rhyme.
Drake’s got snow by the noseful,
Christmas is the calibre.
Jake’s laughter screams so hopeful—
“Shotguns in the salad bar!”
Vito has the look: “too kind”
And the stained glass is tinted.
Vito brought the soup—he’s blind.
When Val kissed him, he squinted.
A double-shot of two grooms
Drunkens the brawl-crawling crowd;
The women at once trash rooms—
The men unzip and get loud.