If you give me anything at all

Give it to me in small doses

My cup is wrinkled

Just enough is too much to hold

It was made for display windows in a storybook

Wasn’t made to hold too hot

It was made for lukewarm tea, poured from a pot, on a an afternoon where time is not measured by rhythmic ticking

An afternoon when the sun is forever setting

It’s wrinkled now

Cracks not doing much beyond keeping themselves from expanding