There's something about him.
There's something about the way he talks in his baritone voice.
The words just glide off his tongue like melted caramel,
Smooth and silky falling into ribbons of sentences and stories.


There's something about the way he looks at me.
He just glances so slightly toward me, but he doesn't smile.
He looks straight into my eyes, which I've never been able to.
It's like he's staring at my soul, analyzing it for a brief moment, then turns away.


There's something about the way he touches me,
As if he has a purpose for it.
It can be gentle, a touch to my thigh.
Sometimes it'll be a firm grasp of my hand,
To tell me all is alright.
But there's the touch when he pulls me in close and caresses my face.
When he gently traces my jaw,
And his fingers follow back to my ears.
Then he carefully pulls me up towards him,
and he comes down to touch me once more.


There's something about the way he gently kisses my face and pulls me into an entirely new world.
In that world all I see my is him and me,
And that is where I want to be.