To My Love, But You May Share

Undoubtfully beautiful.
So witty, so petite.
I love her so,
It's not a difficult feat.

Her hair is long,
Her toes are short,
Her humor is wild,
Similar is a child.

She loves her Creator,
He's no dictator.
He offers all.
With a small return.

She gives her all,
Asking nothing back.
Her qualities are vast,

TT, you sent this to me with a promise of a poem a week. You are so romantic. It ends with a comma. Did I miss a line or is this a promise of more to come?
Can I learn still more about you? Sometimes I feel so connected that I can guess your every move, which I often can. But every so often, you surprise me. Our love is like a rare and elegant flower, growing like a hibiscus. . . A bloom peeps out from a tender shoot, turns into a young blossom, then a beautiful mature flower, only to eventually ripen and disappear - for a short while - only to reappear as another bloom, more lovely than the last, promising yet another exquisite creation, continuing throughout all seasons if warmth is its environment. And this creative drama occurs for untold years with but a bit of nourishment. And as with love, this nourishment is not a requirement for existence but, oh, the added returns.

Your simple, yet eloquent, words are a nourishment to me. . . I love you, babe.