Dark Desire: Coffee

Done for the The 5 Senses Poem Challenge on Lit's poetry forum. Find more sensations turned words from a lot of poets there.

This one had the prompts:
Sight: something purple
Sound: coffee being made
Scent: sex
Taste: plums
Touch: glass

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"Where's the victim?" she asks when we arrive.
Her breath full of the events ten minutes before
as tonight's detectives on standby celebrated life.
Clear evidence placed deep down her throat
somewhere midway through the late night call.
"Bring Branka along," Janek's knowing note.
Now, every word comes man-breathed, sore
from avoiding sleep's horror since nightfall.

Love never stays at our home,
so Homicide's never stay alone.

The cause is easy to see
shattered on the ground
an obscenely long glass dildo
the counterpart forced as deep as it could go
there were the heart is...should be.
I'm certain there never was a warm-blooded beat
in the stiffening chest of the Family's hell-hound.
My sympathy for the one who delivered his defeat.

Cold fingers frozen around the see-through handle,
never again a street life victim's vandal.

More of his twisted tools already placed
on the now Polish flagged seep-proof sheets,
mostly untouched. Good she had not yet faced
what we've seen before. The air is still filled
with sour apprehensions that mix badly
with Branka's odoriferous aura of amorous guilt.
Rebirth of the Slivovice stops halfway up, gladly,
halted by the thought of now safer streets.

Cursing Maciej's overripe plums recipe,
Homicide's best friend is to be kept inside.

Swallowing the fruity aroma, anger rises.
Deciphering violent patterns everywhere.
Decoration smashed, the parquet floor spoiled.
Remnants of a mini-skirt, a slinky top torn.
The most striking of her street's uniform,
violet tulle lacerated, strewn here and there.
Seduction shredded to all shapes and sizes.
'Girl, in what kind of madness did you get embroiled?'

More questions arise that would be never asked,
give-and-take rules mate both professions at last.

Bringing a device from south Italy to life,
Branka's hands could be that of a wife,
if they wouldn't hold memories darker than
the fuscous fluid ensouling a cup of the dead.
Throaty drops promise awakening ahead.
Crime Scene's absence forms a plan.
Things have to go, others have to come,
time for the Families to finally pay their sum.

Tonight, Homicide cares about the victim,
and that was never him.