walking with the words

At the inception of the poem
you are born with me
walking with the words
heading the lines
it is you who makes the rhyme
and once again 
there stands your brown eyes
sitting  just like hemistiches
I then leave you behind
for a line or two
just so you will find me,
following my handwriting 
and the footsteps of the lines

Each time that I write you
I cry
For it rains on my lines every time

I just write you
and you become a verse
but where are you hiding my love? 
where-----  in the lines?

I, the man who happens
You, the woman who appears
only through the lines

You are  the sentence, and the line
You are the alpha, and the dot
so what is left for the line?

And where there is no more to say
I shall write your name
as the rhyme.