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