I'm not here when he's pouring into my pretty glass.
I'm not here when he's passing my crystal goblet into my cupped hands.
I'm amidst the clouds when I drown any speck of curiosity down my parched throat.
He can't do me any harm. Master feeds me. Master knows what I should have. He's my keeper. I love Master. Master loves me.
He's happy when I finish the liquid and I'm happy to accept the praise. I watch, eyes drawn to the decanter that he plucks from the counter. I lick my lips for any lost drops, they're sweet, and I accept the next helping.
The crystal makes the blue liquid sparkle. "Just drink," he insists when I start to think. It winks at me and shimmers delighted when I tip it into my lips.
I swear I'm ingesting the sky and the oceans.
My awareness is hazy. All I can recognize is his curved lips and the sweet drink he feeds me.