Winters Echo Sweeps Her Off Her Feet Poem by Mark Heathcote

Till Elysium streams of moonlight
cometh an angel's translucent kiss
tremble I moth-like in her starlit abyss
reticent of dawn's precocious sunlight
eclipsing her fragile pale haunted lips.

I spy her footsteps dancing each-in-each
tender tip-toe meetings ghostly impeach
our heartbeats whispered wanton dance
moonlit fires of quenching dewy romance.

But it then engulfs her prelude sleep
winters echo sweeps her off her feet
as snow and ice-like sister meet
it's then-I-omit, a cold defeat.

For the curve of her spine
is a serpent mine?
That I've kissed to the sorrow
bone and marrow.

Truth in the hope of securing
the loosening, moorings
of our souls
bound-together in
her own Dead Sea scrolls.