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
we’re drinking from paper cups.