Stuttering to sign his name, perplexed
As she slouches gently into her chair
Dressed in a shade of orange and tan
In the hustle bustle at the office floor
She reads a text calling her Clementine
As she smiles under her breath, heaving
She drips, as my tongue laps her wine
I hide beneath her wooden table, often
unbeknownst to the staff that bore her
I know to lap her gently, and I so do
As her calves caress my eager shoulders
She bites her tongue, as the youth leaves
Her body stays form but her eyes deceive
Anyone worth his salt could clearly see
She has gushed and blushed until the eve
She often drops a pen , and bows in
Kisses me with her maroon shaded lips
let's our tongues mate and quickly part
I go back burrowing my face in her hips
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