She’s like a tall glass of sweet tea

When the summer’s sweltering sun beats down on my back, and my tongue beckons for a drink, she is my deliverance

She’s all high boots and white gloves

Her voice is dark and sultry, like black velvet drapes

She is ornate lace and dried flowers

Lips plump and soft, with hips softer still

Her curves grip the gaze of the men in the fields, but those curves yield only to my hands

Her straw hat hangs low shielding hazel eyes and rimmed glasses

Those eyes remind me of leather bound books and freshly rolled tobacco

She is the bane of debutants, and the goddess of the working man

She is a penny coat with polished gold buttons, an old colonial with ornate trim

Polished hardwood floors and smoke filled parlors

I am beholden to the lines around her smile, and the sway of her dress

She tastes like aged brandy and leaves me a drunken mess