Coffee Cup -edited

[tectak]

1st edit


Coffee Cup

After you left me I refilled the cup
you’d used for your coffee, I didn’t wash up.
I used it right handed, my lips touched the place
where your lips had been when I last saw your face.

Imagined I tasted your kiss on its rim,
my fingers touched places your fingers had been.
Caressing the handle, mouth sugary sweet,
I’m not going to wash it until we next meet.


original

Coffee Cup

Love, after you left me
I refilled the cup
you’d used for your coffee,
I didn’t wash up.

I used it right handed,
my lips touched the place
where your lips had been
when I last saw your face.

Imagined I tasted
your kiss on its rim,
my fingers touched places
your fingers had been.

Caressing the handle,
mouth sugary sweet,
I’m not going to wash it
until we next meet.

Hi mop,
All that has been said on this one is justifiably encouraging and you can be pleased with it. I do not have an overactive sense of humour but can still read a piece and enjoy my own sorties into the land of the sublimely rudiculous...so bear with me, this is more about me than you.

After you left me I refilled the cup
you’d used for your coffee, I didn’t wash up.
I used it right handed, my lips touched the place
where your lips had been when I last saw your face. The simple rhyme is natural talk and in that sense does not warrant the cry of forced...so fine; but image wise, and this is me, the obscuration of "the" face with with a large coffee cup has a comedic impact which you do not want. Where were his lips when you last saw them? Er, just below his nose, but I can't be sure because a coffee cup was in the way.Alternatives are gratuitous but:
...where your lips had been. I can still see your face.

So isolating the probable location of the errant lips from the dependency of time.

Imagined I tasted your kiss on its rim, Ah, the old traditional kiss on one's rim Tell me this is not tongue in cheek...or anywhere else for that matter. Modified but your poem:
I imagined I tasted your kiss on THE rim
my fingers touched places your fingers had been. Do I need to say anything? Masturbationary musings may not be taking this where you want it to go. I say again, this is my mischief, not yours. Or is it?
Caressing the handle, mouth sugary sweet,
I’m not going to wash it until we next meet. Yahooo! This takes the biscuit. Where to start? Symbolic handle? With your sweet mouth? Billy where are you? Holy halitosis, no mouthwashing for a week? You are killing me...and everyone else...or is it me?
Very best,
tectak