Sure, it's lyric poetry, why not? 



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People oft grow together slowly,

As trees reach across an old stone wall,

Entangling roots and crossing slender branches

Till one can barely tell twixt the tangle

Which comes from which.

And thou'st become part of my life slowly,

As music, oft played, lives in the heart,

Shaping its surroundings to its beauty,

Mirroring the sanctum of its source.

I've come to this realization slowly,

As a deer stands at a clearing, nostrils wide,

Quivers rippling down its delicate legs,

Eyes resigned as lakes await the wind.

Say, my  gentle friend, 

What thou must tell me slowly,

Whither my love is also thine, as the sun

Rises or sets over a tranquil valley,

Filling the heart with more than it can hold.