Nothing Makes Me Happier Poem by Mark Heathcote

If my heart were a gilded flower
Would I give it to the first bee?
To arrive embowered in light.

I see. Yes, the world is often dour
Oh, I want to of drink love—drown in ghee
That buttermilk, she made metabolite-

Nothing makes me happier or drowsier.
Then watching her a woman in her saree
Moth like beneath the moonlight.

Remonstrate and dance encounter
Her lover, in his trembling apology
Hearts distance, still-in-satellite.