On the Rocks

I wanted to drink
Whiskey
Wishing for the eroticism
Of elegant,
Trembling hands
clasped around
Crystal
Desperate for the once familiar
Feminine bestiality
Of my brain,

But every sip quenched
Crucial, required words
Like an amber venom of mediocrity
I felt

The lift of cliché

Fill me empty

And I let it sink
Hoping to drink
Myself out
Of the hollow
Silence of this block
And back
Into the comfortable stability
Of sentence
Structure.