Day One Hundred and Forty Eight: Hops and Barley

I suspect that the last line may ruin this one…

Oh, you fickle mistress,
With bitter brown or
golden blonde locks,
A master of seduction
In bubbles and light –
The gently brewed beauty
That caresses my mind
deep in to the wee small hours.
The bittersweet intoxication
of this bottled buxom wonder
which, when indulged upon
in moments of excess,
Can erase whole nights
and cloud following days

But I can never give you up
For the moments you touch my lips
are like an angel’s kiss –
An ideal way to unwind.
Sometimes voluptuous and syrupy,
Sometimes athletic and springy,
Other times pretty and fruity
But always a danger
Always a beauty.
Over the years I’ve lost count
of the times we’ve met;
All the cold bitter nights,
or quenching thirst’s
sweet summer sweat,
None of which can cause me to deny
the great bubbly charm that catches my eye.
Or the beers I’ve tasted and the ghosts
their effects have exhumed.


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