Heat (Her) The beauty she has to forever shall last, An angel with glory unpassed; A fantasmic mind (no better could find) Her touch turns water to wine; More often than not she is too often sought By others whose minds with naught; If I were gone, my dreams she would haunt Her face is all I could want; The wonderful cure to a horrible world, And there is nothing greater than her. Written on impulse February 2, 1999