Saturday, September 6, 2008

Paper Cup Lust

spring is here and you're beginning
to talk to me again
we're drinking in the front yard garden
and I nonchalantly mention
I can't remember how we used to be
the conversation's filled with awkwardness
and I tell you how you're appearing
in my dreams less and less lately

you don't raise your eyes from your feet
just stand there and reach for my hand
but the gesture's interrupted
by the guests who're tripping and stumbling
down the steps of the front porch

I see your intention, which makes me smile

so when the distraction's passed I give you my
open palm and you gently let
our fingers melt and intertwine

the red wine emptied from our paper cups
stains soft the white insides and rims
as you tip the last drop into your mouth
and I watch your crimson lips

I kiss you and you at first seem startled
but you quickly assume how we last were
the chemical reaction is concrete setting
so reliable are your actions
at my passions and advances in relapse
and as the wine you stain me harlot red

I can taste you with every sense
and your defense lingers transparent
of trying to hide your seductive contentment
in getting my pride tonight

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other people waiting

we're not strangers anymore