radiator love poem

i used to try to see how long i could last
without turning the heat back on.
the pipes in our building are 
full of eels. you said, 
"i want to feel my bones again."
i crouch in front of the dead horse
& ask for a fire. contemplate
how & what i will try to steal
from the gods. the world is turning 
to ice age in front of my eyes.
i use a blow dryer to unthaw 
the rose bushes outside. dry petals 
fall to the earth. i watched you
smoke on your little metal balcony,
the plumes from our mouth 
like foot soliders. who & what
is coming for you? a bagel we split
before i decided to live inside
a conch shell. the life of 
mulberries bursting. i don't want
to be a candle. i want to be
oil which is to say i want to be
the ancient shoulders. give me
dinosaur tear ducts.
give me a fireplace i can lay down in.
cradle the log. but the radiator speaks
of beautiful sunsets & raisin cookies.
spiral galaxy. snakes, when close to dying
of the cold, will coil around each other
into a wonderous knot of skin
& skin & skin. this is how 
our building will one day fall.
in a tethering of bodies. the basement
is full of roots that lead 
to a ghost tree. turning the heat back on
i feel like i am becoming a moth.
i search for a thumb's worth of light
to tell my every secret to. 
the sun kneels down. the radiator gallops. 

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