The common vow for times like now is this:
that "Never shall I wash the blessed hand
upon which in a trick of fate did land
your e'er-elusive, e'er-remembered kiss"—
But friends we are, and happy in our state,
and precious as this moment is between
the two of us, your lips upon my skin
is not the way today to venerate—
A pigeon shifts above us and we see
that it has kindly solved our quandary.
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