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Hank and Nettie


by Charlotte H.



You're the kind of man
mamma warned me about —
always with the sexy smirk
and your hand metaphorically
in the honey pot when it's
not handing some chick
her fourth dirty martini or,
no, I take that back — especially
when you're handing her that
fourth drink because you know
it's the one that's gonna tip her
over the edge of judiciousness
and into deliciousness.

Yeah, mamma said don't trust a
man with caramel-colored eyes,
especially when he calls you his
Muse and says makin' love to you
breaks loose the words and they
all come a-tumblin' out through
fingers as nimble on the keyboard
as they were on your skin, the words
skippin' outa his mouth as he's lickin'
your neck on down to your toes and
across that bright white screen shinin'
like the eye of the Lord on the
mountain top.

I told mamma I was leavin' you —
you and your hard drinkin', devil
writin' ways, and I didn't give a damn
about being no muse and I didn't
give a damn about your caramel-colored
eyes and your smooth talk that was
s'posed to be for my ears but ended
up in everybody else's. You can nimble
your fingers in other women's honey
pot all you want but one day you'll need
your muse again and it'll be just too
damn bad.


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