Hands Poem by steve bines

We met, for the sake of friends, who set us up.
We drank espresso from little cups.
I noticed your little finger pointed up.

This enchanted me:
It was the image of a queen drinking tea.

Then you said “That espresso cup and you don’t fit.
It gets lost in your mitt.
A man with your hands
Should wrap them around something grand! ”

“Perhaps around the waist of a queen, like yours? ”
I heard myself say.

You smiled.
And then we spent the day.
Together.

And I wished all dates could be like this.
And last forever.