Living Poetry

You are a poem that breathes
Words living in lungs that heave
Hot breath across your lips
The bows of which comprise a sonnet
Your tongue a crimson harp
With never-ending verse upon it

Your skin is alight with a fever
Burning bright from the meter
That dances along
Every word and phrase which
Comprises the song
That makes my heart and breath hitch

You are a poem and I a paradox
You a ballad and I blank verse
In the space of your breath I keep time
In the rhythm of your heartbeat
There is hope I'll find my rhyme