A small sip of tea

A small sip of tea.

That was all I had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner today.

For my mind did not allow anything else to enter the vicinity of my mouth.

It was simply my warm teacup, my lips, and I, and no feast would make itself known anytime soon.

So for each hour in the different sectors of the day, a small, prolonged sip would be taken from my weary teacup.

One for the morn. Another for the dusk. And an especially long one for the glower of the looming moon.

My teacup has had yet to be finished, for there are still droplets of a dull orange hue remaining with the cup.

Or perhaps, it was brown?

With my vision blurred, and the chirping of birds beckoning my lost name, I take one final sip and doze off underneath the sunrise's watchful eye.