Boiled potatoes

A poem's meant to sprout out from the soul
But your flame makes me a meager mash
Boiled potatoes sprout no more than lumps of coal

It's cold, I dare not from this chamber stroll
You kindled all my love and all my cash
Now thawing seeds try to sprout from out my soul

Joy's sprouts eaten by neglect or by the moles
For I'm just a scarecrow to your meadow lashed
And my potatoes fail to grow in any hole

Hungry for your heart I hang to this pole
But your heat scalds me, so my teeth I gnash
Will these stewed up spuds sprout from out my soul?

My skin is singed but inside I'm still cold
From artificial heat I have a rash
Peeled potatoes sprout no more than bready mold

The ache of hunger makes my thinking dull
While my heart digs for tubers in the trash
Heartfelt lines should sprout from out my soul
I'm planting boiled potatoes on this grassy knoll