The Slut Shame of a Hot Matcha Latte

Matcha, you so hot.

You slap me with your naughty flavor, a

blender mixture of horse hay and cow shit.

And don’t get me started on your thiccc texture.

That whole milk ain’t doing you no favors.

I think it best you stop your spicy stare.

I like you cold ( ICE COLD!) and mouth

wide open, ready to give, give, give. No more

of this thin lipped, fiery tongue-play shit.

I ain’t dealin’ no nonsense.

Yeah, even chilled, you got me sus,

and I’ll be daring you to take it too far.

But next to that ice cube, you so fine, Matcha,

too fine. You tease and deliver a sweetness I can dig,

a creaminess imma crave.

Just stay calm, girl—damn, you gotta tone it down!—

wayyy down. How low can you go? All the way

to the floor? I ain’t seein’ you change,

foamin’ with that boiling white.

But I got plans for you up there,

all steamy sultry lies.

You stay in your lane, girl, ‘cause

for a mornin’ delight, ain’t no way I be lusting

for steamin’ cows and their burnt-ass juices.

Don’t you do me like that.

Yo, you know I ain’t never touched that roasted

side piece, C. My heart couldn’t handle it. But you?

You juuust right.

Your nippy splendor my perfect, cold match.

Ah, but I’ll be damned

if my tongue can endure

the farmyard of your hot ass.

Thank you for reading! This is just me joining in the fun of Donna and Paul's worst food or beverage challenge. My (probably poor) attempt at a humorous poem! Cheers!