Pre sip – Without the wine they were just words. They held no meaning, no power, emotionless.
First sip – She felt the poisoned tongue of the wine slither through her body, she ached for it.
Second sip – Her thoughts became lucid, words building sentences, clear and concise. She had so much to say.
Third, fourth, fifth sip – She’d been here before. Ready to pour a second glass, but first, first she must write. The ever inspiring epiphany of words must be written before they are lost to the second glass.
Second glass – Emptied of anxiety, filled with calm.