Cliche.
A word.
A word to describe,
a bare moment..
of happiness.

A sip led to another,
and I was in a drunken twilight.
My body,
pressed in your lap,
my hands,
running through your hair.

Not a moment had I felt,
and insecurity in protection.
Your arms wouldn't be found,
anywhere but on my skin.
Causing me a shiver,
in a romantic twist.

My eye level rises.
They are fixed.
On the mess you let me make
of your hair.
The eyes that hold me hostage.
And the smile,
that baked my heart.  
An aesthetic trapped in my mind.
The look,
that always made me recall my love for you.