a bittersweet taste hits my evening
as time for a rest enteres the bar
and then my eyes spark search for meaning,
as for some regular not far.
so frivolously the clock is playing,
a beat preserves it as a holy scroll,
albeit, the feeling it keeps slaying,
this buzz just lacks a pinch of soul.
as tapster sees my face is sinking,
he offers me his novel brew,
I, with a passion, try to drink it.
sadly, I'm feeling nothing new.
it doesn't matter if cocktails change,
if textures find another flavour,
as long as barmen keeps the range,
This tavern shall then lose its savor.
Reposting it because I had to change few things: like name, a bit of structure and the rhyme.
Hope you will enjoy it.