Decimals.

Good evening, you daily binge,

I'm toasted, roasting your fellow synonyms,

chewing skin off naked limbs,

sufficient whims commingled with nutrients.

Regarding me, won't you indulge?

Prithee! go dissolve a wicked gin,

for rum wouldn't fit your argument..

howbeit could, peradventure circumvent.

Now history methinks, is an unnecessary swagger,

its a dagger that matters too well in whisper,

perhaps a spear might rustle mire fine,

ifsoever, whistling these sentences aside.

Aye, she overwhelms naive speech,

therewithal, our clueless words are terse,

its their verse which nurses a degree,

me - swigging usquebauch,

she rustling, in one cups' merry.