Always the little things
Are the ones that make me grin
Whether I like it or not,
I seem to be drawn back again:
The wafting breeze inside your room
That has the soft scent of you,
Barely there yet that I’m always noticing,
As it’s always somewhat intoxicating.
The little spiraling circles I twist
On the treasure trail which sprouts
From your warm stomach,
While nestling against your chest.
The earthy colors subtly spiraling
Around the depths of your pupils,
Whether they be browns, or greens,
Or hazel, or another divine shade between.
The zests and spices and tangs
Of the various little things
Mingling around your lips
Doing a salsa with your tongue.
The double pitter-patter
Of a hummingbird’s heartbeat
Every time my phone whispers
That you are talking to me.
And then there is that sensation
When you are simply around,
Because you have forced
Me to lose a battle against Love.
A battle that I love to lose.