Romeo: It’s my turn to cry. What if 

your wife forgot your birthday – or your name 

(for just one stunning moment, sure) or left 

sharp knives point-upward in the dishwasher?

Juliet: It's someone to share secrets

with – or about – when we’d had none, only

history stored in his-and-hers junk drawers,

hoarded confessions for the counselor.

The Counselor: Perception of self weeps

for its normal imperfection and the

Bandaid stays damp. Marriage is extremely

realistic: Killing two white doves with 

one precious stone bends full-blown fantasies 

immoral, marshaling brave schemata.