Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs Poem by Mark Heathcote

Only your heart is a catalyst until I die.
How my heart empties its treasure chest
Worldly jewels they're flung out in order to ratify
Wrongs too many to alleviate leave dispossessed
When you throw stones at toughened glass
It's as though you're in one drawn-out instance
Made a spider's web, waiting for the spider alas
To return home by quiet leaps surreptitious
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs
We look out the window for any elliptical signs
A frosted-breath a kiss waiting to synchronize
You contributed a shadow that at my heels aligns
But guilt-ridden finally, when I fall you remove
My leaves my sins, my shadow taking both hands
You lead me an old stubborn mule it behoves
To be stabled up in a barn full of wheat sacks.