Cheshire Lips

Approaching The Cup

Damn, I love those cheshire lips,
the way the glance survives the kiss,
the sway of autumn in the glass
of strangers’ cars that seem to pass
too fast for destined eyes to meet
the lives they now must surely miss.
Damn, I love those cheshire lips,
their brilliant chatter between sips
of thirty-dollar chardonnay 
we bought today, just for today.
Yours thirst for mine, and mine for yours;
let our lashes lead the way
from childish trappings of dismay 
to the tongue-filled, frameless doors.