For his girl who was to be coming
Cause in spite of the cold, the snow and winter winds
His body was burning on the inside
And a shape that came and rushed out of it
Hoping to feel up there, the heat of a chimney
Cause in spite of the furs her body was freezing
For he always was out, and there hardly lived
Just a bed and a few things to eat & drink
But nothing to burn in the chimney to heat
That he set on fire books, chairs and letters
But the chairs and letters were his dead Mom's
And his books, - oh Lord! - his most precious treasures.
"My body's burning, yearning for her love"
"Why wouldn't I be her natural stove?"
"We'd switch the parts, for once", he thought, satisfied
From the depths of his pants and proceeded
From his crest to his chest wide opened his belly slit
As smoke exhaled from there he tipped his hat to life
He fell as she, amused & flattered,
Came closer and said
"The smell's truly awful but I guess I'll deal with it"
And just as in a muff she
Stuffed in him her
Frozen hands and feet.
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