Barista Longing

Yesterday, a day fluttering, windy with the sun tossed here and there like ravaged newspapers. Spring groans under the pavement blocks.

He is lean like limb as I watch him cat stretch in the cafe window. Blue eyes black hair. And he makes the perfect espresso.

He walks like dark chocolate is melting in his mouth, if you like that kind of thing.

I like that kind of thing.

My hands are already on his hips, my cheek on his neck. If only he knew.