Never trust a man who

fucks you at three p.m.

Trading in an afternoon coffee

for a quickie in the supply closet—

Did you know caffeination

could be found between a man’s thighs?

They certainly don’t sell it at the nearest Starbucks.

Never trust a man who

emails you at nine p.m.

A precious solitary hour tainted

by his wild desperation for company docs.

If it was so badly important, you think,

then why’d you make me leave my desk?

But your fingers only know how to type sorry.

Never trust a man who

calls you at five a.m.

He’s swearing he wasn’t a bad guy—

you just had to have known the essentiality, didn’t you? —

And fuck yeah! the girl boss in you understood,

but he’s calling you darling and baby,

and no one picks a fight this early, anyway.

        
Never trust a man who

parades you at eleven a.m.

Only walked into his lair

for a signature to make your work worthwhile.

But with every letter comes a kiss,

stopping when his fellow mad men stroll in—

Not without complimenting your floral skirt first.

Never trust a man who

assures you at five p.m.

People talk and cameras stalk,

but hey, trust me, won’t you?

And you’re just trying to make the train—

gotta go so I can get back! —

It doesn’t even hurt to say yes.

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