I have figured you out.
You are like
ice cubes when I drop them into my tea to cool it,
an overused serving platter,
stiff joints in the morning,
a new book when opened to read,
the tops of expertly baked cookies,
an adolescent boy's voice,
skin between my thumb and index finger,
the parched August earth,
overripe cherries,
the code to a wine cellar,
an ancient sun-worn, wind-weathered face-
cracked.
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