Java Taken Noir

Their coffee tastes like motor oil
Don't ask me how I know
I just watch the java boil
And when it comes, I sip it slow

She pours it with a secret smile
Says she gets off at 2
Tells me that she likes my style
But can do without this shade of blue

She tears off her uniform
Soon as we get through my door
Her hands are cold, but thighs are warm
As my tongue travels to her core

She tastes far better than the steak and fries
She dished up for my dinner
I'm inclined to listen to her cries
Proclaiming this marked man a winner.