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Ode to my cup
Your top edge
is geometry –
a never-ending
finger-tracing
line.
Your inside
is liquidity –
a tepid spa
of chocolate
that I’d rather
had been
hot.
Your handle
bends its elbow.
Linking up,
I sip.
A tulip to my lips –
You are my cup.
Copyright ©
Jeanette Swan
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