Whatever poet first equated sultry
with sexy
must never have visited the South.
Sultry is a susurrus of grasshoppers
and motionless tall grass.
Sultry is sweaty droplets
tickling and itching their way down your back
and spilling into your butt crack.
Sultry is like having a wet rag
to breath through,
your lungs laboring to separate
oxygen from H²O.
Sultry is nights so hot it’s
impossible to sleep.
Sultry is using the smallest motion
possible to rock your chair
on the front porch. 
Ask any Southerner and they’ll 
tell you true. Ain’t nothing sexy
about sultry.