The Boss (I.P)

You are hot, you
cheeky sweet thing,
I want to take you
now, all sweaty from your
trip, talking fifteen to the
dozen about nothing at all,
and let my hand slip
between the buttons
of your blouse, and
hear it rip, a little.
Can I wipe your hair
across my face, take it
in my mouth , taste the
smell of fragrant pear
and feel the heat
in my crotch, now
in front of all the guys
standing idle at the coffee
machine. Hitch that skirt
just a little higher, so
I can imagine,
a little harder.
I know you like it.
Why don’t you
turn round
and let me drool
before I tell you
I want to see
you in my office.