Beamish

[softlyfalling]

The brogue doesn't affect the asses

---

I poured myself a glass of wine
And held it to the light;
I pondered its complexity
The quintessential white.

I savoured its intense bouquet
So delicate and fine;
I paused a while then took a sip
Of this exquisite wine

Then spat it out, my palate cleansed,
And took a swig of beer.
I sighed and belched, my heart content;
My message should be clear.

Complexity is very well
When I am in the mood,
But give me ale to quench my thirst:
A healthy dose of crude.

crude. pshaw

Guinness or girl?

Will you chastise me if I pour your beer too fast
or will you press your smile into a sulk
as the head slides down the contours
of the glass?

Don't answer that.

I knew a girl who dipped her darkened
curls, still peering up to me;
like Mary, chaste blue
through fallen forelocks;
who laced the frost webs
with her tongue's side
to catch the rolling pearls.

I couldn't handle that.

You think your breath
a wet placebo, your mouth
a trailing supine tip
to press your moans into my navel
and turn my mind to tepid fog.

You think I will forget that glass of Pinot
at your lips
Don't mind, I'll show you out.
I think I'll choose another glass
anyway, I prefer them stout.

hic