Cup of Sugar

Another cup?
What is it
with your
incessant baking?

The introduction,
there was the elevator,
your slender hand
just passing
between the crush closing
elevator doors
in a rush.

In you sauntered
as happy as a leg
wrapped cat
oddly gifting me
your hand
that had just been
so nearly ruined
and then this,
a blossomed greeting
made of flesh,
and not the least
of it,
your name.

The first cup then,
3 doors down
and so no bother, thanks;
a cake to soothe
the sweet tooth
of a friend,
though no one special.

The second,
a raging case
of birthday madness,
the frenzy
of knowing the date too late.
What a lovely apartment;
is that your bedroom?

The third one, and this,
left to wonder,
was this such
a need,
ringing the bell,
harnessing in,
shuffling like a street vendor,
commandeering my kitchen,
asking an avalanche
of feng shui questions,
then noticing
the door ajar,
my laundry
on the bed
your scooping it up
like leaves in autumn,
in the pile,
asking if I minded
your taking off
your blouse
then that thong
and asking if I minded,
another cup
of sugar.

Written by runningturtle87
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