Love Song of T. Alva Edison
How graceful are your feet in Oxfords, oh kingly inventor.
How sweet is the breath of your breast, like ozone and copper.
How brightly you glow— brighter than candles, brighter than gaslamps. You wash out the very stars with your luminance.
At the heart of our love is a halogen heat far hotter than tungsten in a vacuum. My soul is liberated quartz bearing outward, metal-melting radiance enveloped in glass.
And I am this only when imbued
socketed in your hot...
You are neutral, you draw forth from me such a charge. You drain me, ground me. Into you I flow un-resisted.
I am a circuit hard-on
a diode jumped
a cable bearing maximum load
growing hotter with every added amp
with the current
ever closer to the final moment
the surging voltage
the ecstatic pop!
of a blown fuse.