on a night like this, when waking spent
almost 24 hours constantly awake,
   with February's ***** pinching the skin,
i find you,
                  almost on a whim,
                                 or rather by chance,
dear lass, where have you been all my life,
to think i made a profanity
                                           of whiskey...
by mixing it the fizz of degreasing
              car engines and erroding
                                 the stomach lining...
as it turns out, you, my dear lass, are
              a millionth shot just shy of the first
that should be called:
                           a cat before a fireplace...
  since who would have thought
that you hid in the following instructions -
a 1:1 ratio of ms. amber & ginger wine...
you have become the nearest i have
           tasted to replace the holy mead...
must hide the fact that you're
     a wine... ms. amber & a ginger witch...
dancing on ice...
             as i once met a man in a liverpool st.
pub who answered my question:
   what you drinking?
             *** & coke...
                ah... that's a ****** name for a drink...
so i inspected him,
               black & bearded:
   immediately a name sprouted:
                          black beard!
         who would have thought of
a whickey mac...
                             doesn't matter,
   at £3.50 a bottle?
                                      it's worth it;
so shut up and have slim one,
    followed by a filling one,
              ending up on the lullaby one.