Guinness, a silent saviour

This inanimate glass stands still and taciturn,
Waiting to fill its purpose,
With a click, hiss and a rattle.
Stark black can fizzing ready to go,
It tumbles beige into its invisible sheath,
As I sit spellbound as the dark liquid falls like autumn leaves from its carbonised captor,
Forming to a creamy white head in spite of gravity,
As it pulls up from the bottom,
Swirling from behind its fragile container,
As the bubbles rise to escape from the alcoholic emulsion,
Cold stout meets warm air,
Its vessel mists as it turn to condensation,
As the restricting goblet weeps with appreciation,
Another Irish beauty,
Ripped from the golden streets of Dublin,
As I gaze with love upon it’s form black as coal,
The object of my desire,
My constant companion,
My nemesis,
My downfall,
My silent saviour.

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