dirty morning coffee goodness

Nipples can’t lie in the morning,
with a chilled winter sky bearing its warning.
But with cinnamon skin
and burnt orange hair,
i could show him warmth.
I visit him most days.
He grinds coffee beans,
pours velvet
and slides it down my throat
before the sun has climbed up over the horizon.


He smiles as I walk in the door,
all early eyed and dewy sighed.
(_come on, make me sigh a little more_)
We small talk and he asks if I’m well,
(_I’d be better if you moved a little closer_)
pitter patter glancing,
shy eye dancing.
He stretches to reach a top shelf,
his t-shirt reaching up with him
(_just take it off_)
and exposing rum and raisin dimple
from the hip,
(_grab mine_)
in a stomach that moistens my gums.
His arm wrestles with lean muscle and machine
(_wrestle ME, don’t be mean_)
‘Would you like sugar?’
(_Yes please,
you tease_)
But I shake my head,
swing my curls
as he paints milky swirls
that impress the girls.
(_impress, press, PRESSS!!_)
His hands move fast,
they are so clever
(_I’ll show you where to put them_)
He lifts the cup,
brimming with aroma
(_just spill it over my dress_)
and wipes a lonely drop with his fingers,
that he brings to his lips
(_oh, ohhhhh_)
and kisses its tips.
His tongue is swift,
it’s pinky red
(_my pink is swelling_)
He hands me my drink
And accidentally brushes my finger
(_@%^&(*#&^&_)
And I smile my goodbye
rush back outside
to where the air calms my flush,
chills down my red,
cools my cheeks
and sends mischief back on her way