Heater On High

[Verse] I often think about poets who fall in love first with themselves then suddenly they can't live without seeing their pretty words in print- inking up the page hoping to be touched and turned over and over and over again. Read to me, sweetheart. Falling in love feels like a gift of two worlds that will never meet. And then the poet becomes a bell, in which it rings three times- each clang, an iconic heart hoping to find peace in a gnarled knot of wood. I often think about poets who fall in love. [End] Read to me, sweetheart. Falling in love feels like a gift of two worlds that will never meet. I often think about poets who fall in love. Who fall in love.