Voluntary vow (Soul-o’man)

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Gone are the days, where a woman swallows these oaths without knowing who will stomach it
Gone are those days when she has to smash her feet towards that earthenware to define the prosperity of such bonding.
the days where the referee whose welding whistle whines into oblivion
the moment the whisper hushes loud enough.
Days when the sheets need to be sparkling to prove her innocence

Days had to pass prior to his knowledge of her complexion 
Neither was she aware of his designation.
Instead of a degree, kolanut and palmwine would do
Tastes and compatibility were aliens.
Sperms and incubators reflected Alpha and Omega
Days when all and sundry In attendance must be embellished in the famous aso ebi
When no tooth renders a token of thought towards the monastery

Days are now, same figures march down with similar toes
No strings just black ties with needled saliva
No ambiguity except with prenups and bugger offs
intentional mistakes
Wallowing from a willing well.

Does it remain voluntary when the vow transforms to a curse?
And someone said infants know not what they need
It becomes a business not politics of bliss
If only they could observe the logs but they smile too much

Yet yes we can
With fairy fists in the air waiting to carve a ring in it.

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