Paper Cups

We drink from paper cups here,

that fragile first introduction

and she’s in my head again

the girl who holds everything close.

These are the delightful first starts

that never seem to hit their mark.

From the first night until now

there’s no waiting on this one,

she and her sensitive side,

it means I can write.

There’s something about

being the one she includes.

There’s a rush to hear her voice

getting back into conversation,

she twists her hair and pretends

magic comes from natural places

not from made up fairytales.

Reasoning love is mess with her

there’s no room for middle ground.

She steps forward and accepts

that first time kiss, almost as if

she’s about to get into trouble.

It’s unusually pretty here

looking at the pouring rain

from underneath her middle,

she’s tangled and caught by this storm.

Fruit stains our open palms,

hands have that sugary feel

so I climb back to her ear,

she whispers a seven-digit combination

waits for my reaction to take hold.

Always in a state with her

I can’t keep her from coming around

no matter how much it takes

her charming path to my edge

she always has an open palm

she likes for the law to be laid down.

These last four hours

have mattered most

simply because

we’re drinking from paper cups.