Not a goblet, nay Sire. Another century. A chalice? No, there is no sacrifice required this morning. Some ritual, perhaps. Stillness. I’m every cup invented. Time and space are all the same. Therefore, I am a mug. A mug of space. Literal empty space, until you Pour into me. But also, a mug holding space. As in astronomy. Your morning brew. Coffee. Blackness. The cream you splash in, It is the art of the stars. Add sugar crystals, and I sparkle more. Shooting stars, swirling. Slow down, Sip, You’ll sense me. You’ll hear the quiet. The universe. Spaciousness in your chest, and time, Time that slows your soul. A moment of calmness, as I hold it. Vastness of the solar system. I make you, the drinker, a sorceress, you see. Bending time with coffee. You’re granted the power. You believe coffee is required, and the mug. Yet you. You are the time traveler. Time machine.
