Nestled Cups

Asleep on the shelf

I find them there

Breathing softly

Their eyelids are thin

With delicate lashes

Shy blood vessels showing through

They are up so high

I must reach to touch their essence

With my fingertips

I feel them stirring

Awaiting my words 

Needing a fertile place to land

I whisper in their ears

Hearing the echo of my voice

Breathing into their awakening

Reaching into my pocket

I find the baton of the ages

Waiting to be passed on

A new choice arises

To cradle them gently

In a velvet quilt

As Beauty takes form

Her unveiling