Mon Oct 11 1999
Swig from the bottle, it's soapy and smooth;
a creamy liqueur and abrasive to boot.
We all have our favourite drinks, this is mine;
served in a wine glass, frosted, with lime.
This morning I had a bad kitchen, hung over
I'd named all my stains and was feeling them over;
I poured me a drink and sat down in my chair
with a satisfied smirk, and knots in my hair.
Frazzled, and happy, a bucket beside me,
call it a trough and come nuzzle beside me
A splash on the floor and a scoop in my glass,
a sponge (on my knees) and a daze (on my arse).
It goes straight to your head, damn it makes you feel good,
little bubbles expire like nothing else should
I should probably get up, 'cause I'm probably awake
I've got a really big day ahead, to fake.
Sensitive, slippery, dare me to swallow? this
cannot be healthy, th- this poisoned slow kiss.
Believe my slit eyes, deadly smile and my gaze
cannot hurt you, can only fulfil you with praise.
I like honest drinks, clean you out from inside,
and you're more of a man when your man cannot lie.
My once-dirty mind, my its covered with grime,
raspberry and longing, frosted, with lime.
Copyright © 1995-2010 Conrad Parker <firstname.lastname@example.org>. Last modified Tue Feb 19 2002