Arrogant cunt

I crunch an ice cube  
between my back teeth  
and wink at him.  
You stare rusted spoons  
at my chin.  
You wonder if    
I could  
take    
your    
man  
   
I’m a 6’3” sex addict  
in these shoes,  
with a body    
best served  
naked,  
   
and I know it.  
   
I fucking know it.  
   
His eyes travel up  
the curve of my neck  
while you comfort yourself  
in a blathering lie blanket, 
so you can pretend to  
be warm;    
but it’s threadbare,  
ratty,  
and really unflattering.  
   
I put my drink on the bar,    
incline my head,  
and make sustained    
eye contact  
   
Because babygirl,  
the question was never:  
Can I take him.  
   
The question is:  
Am I going to take you, too.