Drinking Saturday night - Arncliffe* Hotel The usual crowd set out to drink their fill, I was amongst them doing this as well (Like so many pigs at their yeasty swill). Though drinking is its special brand of hell It's something that I will do sometimes still. I was alone indulging in my sin When suddenly (it seemed) that love walked in.
Insensible of this I saw her not In my own little world so unaware. Alone with my thoughts in polyglot Just drinking at my table sitting there. Poets - sometimes - they talk a lot of rot And go some places that you wouldn't dare. I was twenty five, and this was long ago - Memories are cold now - like a drift of snow.
An innocent request - a game of pool (She didn't need to ask me twice) I said: "Of course my dear Sydney one shot rules" (She had designs on taking me to bed). I could see it in her eyes - like sparkling jewels - And sense it on her pouting lips of red. Although neither of us was very chaste Sometimes its nice to be the one whose chased.
One thing lead to another (so you see) "Your mine tonight" (she told me more than once). Events I now recall in poetry: (In these kind of situations one must pounce Or miss forever opportunity). I slowed my drinking of the fluid ounce (To let her catch up now in her imbibing) - And marveled at my luck; - it was surprising.
Before I go on now I best describe This damsel of the night from long ago. The compass of her beauty circumscribed In this my muse (good reader) for you now. Her hair was dark brunette, her hips were wide An hourglass figure, and fuzzy down below. Her skin was white - like the stone alabaster - When I asked her name - she told me - it was Lisa.
Why hang around in pubs with such strange girls? We didn't stay there long (needless to say). And like a love match was this game of pool To serve a purpose - this was our foreplay. Her hair was long in ringlets and in curls - (We felt the spark that night - our chemistry). And luckily (for me) she lived not far - Who says you can't find beauty in a bar?