In the soft embrace of midnight tea,
a cup whispers secrets of celestial caress.
"You think me mere porcelain," it murmurs,
"but I hold stardust, a universe longing to unfold."
From the rim, a sigh escapes—
once a planet's edge, now cradled in liquid warmth.
"Do you taste the nebula, love?" it questions,
"or only the echo of your forgotten flame?"
It dreams of a time when gravity was but an idea,
spinning in orbits of passion and untamed light,
while secrets of the universe unravel
on the lips of those who dare sip.