I raise my spatula because I have no cups
to those times where stuff like that doesn't even matter
times like when your barefoot with pink-dipped toes, blue tie-dyed eyes, cherry stained lips
when the air tastes like warm sun, and my breath smells like watermelon
dancing around to Avril lavine in my underwear, with all the windows open
and i don't give one damn, blowing kisses too my friend
and spinning around until i cave in the floor

or times where nothing matters
because you just woke up, and you hardly even know where you are
all you know is the butterflies of light on your eyelashes
you don't remember last night when your tears made pretty pictures on the windows
all you know is the sound of a breeze beating to your heart
your hair twisted like tree limbs around themselves
still smelling like some forgotten bonfire from some forgotten afterlife

even for those times when your unsure
those moments on the meniscus curve when you are waiting to spill over
when two infinities lie between two lips
and what's about to happen comes before you do it
night breaths on your back, he breaths on your face
leather and Old Spice, large hands, and larger hearts
that moment bursting out of your chest
like a parade of stars before you meet