Red Cups

There they hold, two red cups,
red as my hearts vein

Green stock support cups of kissable crimson

From below these vessels call your eyes,
call them into folded hands,
hands that bleed unto your romance

Scissors armed,
you cut this power off at the principle,
so you think

Clutching these kissable reds close to your intention,
your absurd intention

but they burn

burn through your fingers,

your romance,

your shape

Opening your flesh to the possibilities of a heart won

Cutting slivers, silly slivers of desire into perfect, perfect cups