With every first touch, I awaken my grip

I approach the rim, so smooth, so round,

Where secrets in silence and stillness are found.

A glimmer of liquid, a tantalizing tease,

A flavor unknown that beckons with ease.

Before I sip, I savor the dance,

The moment of pause, the chance for romance.

The coolness that clings, the texture it brings,

A prelude to magic and all that it sings.

I lick before I sip, it’s a ritual, a creed,

A gesture of patience, of savoring the need.

The surface whispers promises of taste,

And I, no fool, let none of it waste.

The warmth of the cup, the chill of the glass,

Every layer of pleasure that time lets amass.

I draw in the scent, a fleeting bouquet,

Before the cascade washes my thirst away.

Oh, the froth of a latte, the edge of a brew,

A touch of sweet honey, a hint of dew.

The bitter, the sweet, the tang, and the cream,

Each note a refrain, a moment, a dream.

It’s not haste but the journey, the savor, the feel,

The pause that reminds me this moment is real.

For lips can sip swiftly, but tongues know to linger,

Tracing the edge with an artist’s finger.

So let me indulge, let me relish this rite,

This playful delay, this moment of delight.

For to lick is to wonder, to pause and adore,

To sip is to savor, to beg for still more.

Oh, life in a cup, its mysteries deep,

Its lessons in patience, in joy I shall keep.

With every first touch, I awaken my grip,

On the truth of the moment: I lick before I sip.