No lock holds my keys, and no door holds my screen. Yet I am hinged all the same. What is my name?

I contain liquids, a message, or maybe a small ship. I usually have a long neck. What am I?

The one band the binds us all, The thing we vow on our weddings call. Slip into thy finger we shall see, My eternal devotion to thee.

I'm not quite comfy as a couch Or posh as a chaise I'm somewhere in the middle In your average living room. Some day I'm for kissing and cuddling Others say I'm prim and proper.

Chalk cries across my slate-black face. Dusty fingers leave their trace. Fill me up from end to end, then wipe me clean to start again.