There I was,
walking toward
the scrubbed clear
glass front door
of the coffee shop.
You looked at me
as if I was the answer,
you looked at me
as if I would follow you
around the corner
and strip naked to
be pleasured.

That wasn’t what I
was thinking at all.
I just wanted to pass
beneath your hot gaze,
pass beyond the glass
door to my desire:
a venti vessel filled
with iced chai.

It was nice to be
noticed. I certainly
appreciated your
glance, but it was
the dog-eared
paperback
copy of Scalzi’s
Redshirts that made
me glance twice
at your twinkling
green eyes
and smile
back.