Living Poetry Instead of Writing It

A reason for my rhymes, has been to fill the gaps and times,
While I was patiently awaiting the love I long for,
To make, through poetry, the things, I want and hope for, that spirit brings,
Until the day that she came knocking at my door;
A loving friend, who knows us both, just felt it once, and seemed to know,
And she’s a healer, a yoga therapist, with keen perception,
We met, and naturalness was there, she feels like home, I really care,
And trust my spirit and the universe, without a question;
When she completes her shift and comes, to see me, read to me, and hum,
While snuggling comfortably within each others’ arms,
We’ll be in paradise for sure, I’ll worship, treasure, cherish her,
Within the magic of her tenderness and charms;
So when no poetry is there, it means we shared an evening fair,
Hung out together, exchanging meaning, love, and kisses,
It means I’m living it, not writing it, so when no rhymes are ever there,
You’ll know I’m happy, in the arms of joy and blisses,
It means I’m living it, not writing it, so when no rhymes are ever there,
You’ll know I’m happy, in the arms of joy and blisses,
You’ll know I’m happy, in the arms of joy and blisses.