Marry Me, Hot Stuff

A marriage of heaven and hell would be swell:

to vent your unspeakable lust (and to tell!) –

then promptly to pay all your taxes as well;

to cast an odiferous spell, then to quell

the indelible smell, whose effects you’d dispel!

If I had to get married to hell, or the other,

and wasn’t compelled to reveal it to Mother –

I’d ask, if I had one, the pertinent lover:

“Which one would you marry?” & I bet he’d mutter:

“Oh, one is as bad or as good as another.”

“And how!” (Smart stud! I would have to allow.)

“Isn’t that what every marriage is now!”

Then to he who had size and was wise I’d avow,

while recalling our last hypersexual wow! –
“Marry me, hot stuff. Be ‘I’ to my ‘thou.’ ”

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