Coffee grounds cling to porcelain
like sweat to skin,
a map of brown scars and bitter veins.

She bends above it, breath warm,
reading the cup as she would a lover’s body:
a road etched deep,
a soldier’s chest,
a wound that refuses to close.

A heart appears, then splits,
and her sigh is both prayer and hunger:
“Love arrives with teeth,
and always leaves its bite.”

The rim blossoms into thorns,
a crown pressed to bleeding temples.
“He gave his body for faith,” she whispers,
“as we give ours for desire
burning, surrendering, divine.”

Shadows whirl in the dregs,
a storm of mouths and eyes.
“You will fight for each kiss,
weep after each embrace.
Every face you touch will vanish
a flame in your hand,
a name dissolving on your tongue.”

And at the end, the silence:
the body broken,
the step weary,
the crown fallen.

“The king is defeated,” she breathes,
but her eyes linger,
hungry still,
on the ashes where his fire burned.