You drop your promises like a porcelain cup;
Drink from it but you don't want to clean your mess up;
Well my heart was antique; an heirloom that's shattered;
Its pieces lie at your feet; not like that mattered.

Now that I'm broken, I'll always showcase the lines
That make up my scars; they'll decrease a hundred times
My value, to find a good home because I'm chipped;
And who on Earth would press those splinters to their lips?

We were mixing our affections
Kissing Dixie cups of wine
Laughing at the passing time

Our fingertips touching
And wishing for another
Chapter to be read

We were down at the barn
Where the horses stay

We were hanging around
messing around in the hay

You dropped your Dixie cup
I threw mine away
You smiled and said what the hey

The moon came harvesting
The stars were laughing
And we had our day that night

Dear love, to you, what love can I bring?
A fountain to fill your cup
A flute to let pass your breath
A bed sheet to comfort you
A bird to fly and sing with you
But suffer not my eyes and my lips
To hunger for your face
And in thirst for your well
My heart cries in joy to you
I love you, O my beloved

Let countless years pass by and end
I can be a wave and you an endless ocean
A searching bee and you the flower garden
A lowly blade of grass and you the green valley
A faint shade and you the shining lamp
A sweet memory and you the soul possessing it
I don’t know my love’s own depth
Just that this foolish, silly love
Has no beginning and no end
I love you, O my beloved

Dream of the Melbourne Cup by Banjo Paterson
Bring me a quart of colonial beer
And some doughy damper to make good cheer,

You smile over
your cup, the liquid
filled to the brim.
My smile has no
power against
that look; the way
your eyes lock so
beautifully with mine.
Overflowing with
reminiscing thoughts
of our lust-filled
night. The way
we hold onto
each other as
if we were made
for the other.
-JRM

Life is a full cup of craziness
The answer is never to just empty out the contents of the cup.

Just take the lid and Shut the Full-Cup

P.s. Here's a straw for all those people that **** in this cup of craziness.

I wish I was her cup
her favorite cup
the cup she holds affectionately several times a day.
The cup she urgently needs to place her mouth upon
first thing every morn.
The kick-start her day cup
her pick-me-uppa cuppa
I wish I was the cup she always holds
the one she never argues with
the same one which helps sooth her.
The cup that receives those intimate thoughts
she shares with a stare
when lost in reflection of its depths.
If I was that cup
I'd not be envious of the others she uses
the ones she disposes of once her needs have been sedated.
Or the fancypants ones
she uses when guests visit
because
she'll always come back for me
and
never
ever
let another hold me as she does,
but
I'm only her lover.