When breathing grows hard, I’m breath kept in a bottle.

It’s vocals known when it’s first word is blown. The second: Bank mobile, Or a quick mobile tone. Together: A noble mobile to homes, In breezeway strung, Hung to knock its own.

I can strike glass without shattering it, yet sometimes I'm the one who breaks. What am I?

A length of lanolin that leads a life of larynx love. It’s weave waves in wind, a worthy warmth, when winter’s won. A hanging helper holding heat, has a handle on a hug. Food fed fast, or a fabric-fashioned-friend for frigid fun.

Sounding like a curse, Waves greeting, then disperse. A stretch of land, one-Pebble, sand. A towel nap, you’re burnt.