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who's to say she hasn't a poem in her pocket to whip out at her convenience? that scathing butch behind the counter no one knows her name, but she serves up the java like a sistah Sistah' Mary Magdalene O'Fuckin'Donnovan to be more to the point similar to the foam nipple on my au lait.. lick it off as if it was hers what's her story? she slings attitude in my sugar coated mug wish i could get that pouring arm in the sack.. see the way she can service me and count her tips all at once? that's talent. can i delve, divulge, dilute the mystery in your left cheek's pocket? what if i just give you my change? visa and mastercard accepted. :D
