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On Drinking a Bottle of Arrogant Bastard Ale |
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Citrus notes within the dark hoppy hove, I tongue the bulging hood
of foam,
love becomes the tracing of the fine, rare sweet milk
embittered by the ancient retainer, the oracle, temple-whore, of secrets
.----A star upon her back----.
The bovine god of darkness, demiurge of violence, creation,
could not compare with me, as my superfaciaes engorge:
and darkest bitters become the forge. 
Last update: 15-04-2008 11:21
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