Even from a stein it always tasted of lukewarm bitterness. I avoid bitterness. I wish to spit the lukewarm away from my tongue.
I savor the drink of words.
Sharper than a sword, sometimes leaden but never wooden. Words that come at midnight when the other people are swollen with hops and clubs are bursting. I sit here swallowing verbs and adjectives and conjunction junctions.
