Tears Of Oil, Crushed Myrrh Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

My love is fraying away.
Unpicked threads daily
Unravelling her endless yarns
Talking almost incessantly
My love is now unstitching.
Every past argument we've had.
'There are times it is enriching,

She is driving me quite mad.'
I think, O God, I love her.

Then, I wait for her deft sigh
Tears of oil crushed myrrh.
Ask why you made me cry.
It's then that I gently kiss her.
When she's feeling more demure.