A Television Ignition

Hey glass heart, how's your jaw? No, you can't have my voice, but the tobacco can, someday. If I don't crack like a Faberge before that, that is, or fall to a road rage. Over easy and rising, you take me in your hands and use me in the best of ways, stroke stroke and the plunge, wet heat envelops and kill me now, then. Squeeze me boa dead, constricted into the ultimate happy place goodnight. Ah, to dream, to expectorate without my mouth, to sleep. Shakes would agree, and so would whatever he's drinking.
Speaking of which, teach me to(o)...