The porcelain cup holding the cure to a hard morning.
Like the demitasse, I have taken you for granted.
It feels a little off-balance.
Our relationship has changed. It's no longer the user and the used.
You’ve shaped and molded what you want from me.
I could see that we were troubled right from the start.
With that subtle kiss that no one sees.
You picked me up; pointer, index, and thumb.
However, would it be the same with a broken handle?
Would you cling to my warmth like a man lost at sea?
Until I am only shards.
You say you can fix me.
I imagine you full of words but not of deeds.
A lost dictionary with no useful needs.
Gold filling the cracks within me.
You say I am perfect, but now I am displayed.
Never to be enveloped in your hands again.
I watch as you create more.
Taken for granted; your eyes stray to me after every creation.