Ode to a white mug

It had almost been
a wedding gift,
this mug, milky white,
not quite translucent,
with traces of tulips.
The husband had said,
“The green one is mine,
you can have this.”
Our first sharing, perhaps,
apart from the rings.

Morning after morning
my lips curl around
its glistening, curving rim,
like a secret kiss.
Steam and smell
serenade my senses,
as liquid flows into me
like a warm caress,
wiping away troubling,
traces of nightmares.

I had taken it with me
on a holiday once,
lain it among my clothes.
The thought of drinking
from a strange cup
had seemed askance.
Like wearing
someone else’s clothes,
or waking up to find
a stranger in my bed.

As I hold in now,
seeping in its warmth,
I begin to wonder.
Have I ever seeped out?
My breath whispering,
dissolving into those curves.
If someone were
to take it to their lips,
would it sing out to them,
my sonorous secrets?

~~~

 

For the dVerse Poet prompt ‘Everyday objects”