He makes me act like a little chipmunk
With blushed cheeks and my little fingers trying to hush up my face.
My smartypants trolled and not ready for use,
My aplomb nervous and equilibrium confused.
I try to get back to the conversation,
Out of the cloudspace I created to run to and cover the redness of my cheeks.
But he is like the badass God smirking at the little woman in me,
Knowing the end of every sentence I believe in.
He talks pure sarcasm and smart phrases unheard,
And I am fascinated by the way he plays with fine art and dirt.
I am beguiled by the phrases he carves out of roses and thorns,
I love that look he walks with and that charming smile he draws.
I am yet undone with the part where I fall in love with his lips and hips
But for now I am all tipsy on his tux and his every possible grip.