Love Poem

Write me a poem, you say, your eyes bright with
  enthusiasm.
    A poem? But I am not a poet; I don’t know how to!
Write me something anyway, you insist, something that
  rhymes ...

‘Something that rhymes’?

                                                The way your name rhymes
with the chimes of the clock,
the click of the key in the lock,
the knock-knock-knock of your knuckles
   on the door of my heart?

                                                The way your breath
is the sonnet you breathed on my cheek,
the song you shaped on my lips,
the dip-slip-trip of your tongue
   in the house of my mouth?

                                                  The way your being
harmonizes every dissonance in the world,
synchronizes every assonance on this earth,
the way your just being

                                           brings about a singular cosmic
rhyme of love of love of lovelovelove
below, between, all around, above,

                                                              a universe
of rhyming prose and verse that I can never get
enough enough enough
of.

      You are the poet, the poem,
the poetry in motion, the
Geetanjali of love, my love,

not me.