Queen Of The Cold Hearted Poem by Simon Collins

She keeps her heart
In an ice box
A translucent
separate case
Yet still it beats
Like a doped Eskimo's drum
Heavy in expectant space
Quickening with a notion
That love may really be real
Like that potion of shamanic madness
At least a little surreal,
Sometimes she sets it free or
It melts with a lovers touch
Warmed with a poem by Neruda
Or Kahlil Gibran or such
But her trust has known only winter
Not poets and their lofty truth
So she ice's it back in its box
Lonely girl
All frozen solid, aloof