Firewater Blues

Knees up in my low-backed chair
Fingering the glass,
It's shape and fullness
Just like I'd touch you
And when the rim's against my lip
Like your arching back
I drink deeply

Whiskey burns on the way down
Like hot kisses over my belly
Bloom in my groin and rage
But come to nothing
No sense or sensation
Just memories like
Condensation on the eye

Now auburn bands of single malt
Brush across my skin like scented hair
And every swig is astringent
On the chunk you tore out
When you went... But you know:
Why did you go? You went
Because it was always just
Me and a tumbler of fine whiskey

We ran dry.