Hey baby,
I would like a Venti mocha Frappuccino,
hold the whip
we’ll save that for the bedroom.

Two feet of counter separates me from him,
yet my barriers feel
compromised.

Hey sexy,
I like that you don’t have a voice right now.
Nothing you have to say is important anyway.

He rubs his crotch over his dark wash jeans,
shirt raising up enough for me to get a peak
at his happy trail.

I bet you are tight
Financially.

Can he imagine kissing my swollen
lips? Taking off my polo covered in coffee stains?
Having to unbutton to see even an inch of skin.

Bisexual?
Prime candidate for a three-some.

He licks his lips, runs his eyes up and down my body.
His teenage boys, uninterested, ignore his unwanted advances.

I bet you like it rough,
Filthy whore

I like the way he screams in my imagination
as steamed milk douses his face.