I don't get moved by much

We share a culture same vernacular
Love of physical humor and time spent alone
You with your penchant for spontaneous advents
For sticky and raspy, unearthed and then gone

You are a gift renaissance with a wink
With tendencies for conversations that raise bars
You are a sage who is fueled by compassion
Comes to nooks and crannies as balm for all scars

You are a spirit that knows of no limit
That knows of no ceiling who baulks at dead-ends
You are a wordsmith who cares for her brothers
Not seduced by illusion or fair-weather friends

You are a vision who lives by the signals of
Stomach and intuition as your guide
You are a sliver of god on a platter
Who walks what she talks and who cops when she's lied

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Isn't it easy sometimes to describe a person?