You are the fragrance of dark coffee.
You're slow jazz and flamenco guitar -- depending on the weather.
You're the sweet smell that happens after it rains; and the soft pitter-patter of the rain that sings me to sleep --
You're that too.
And the caffeine and the lost jazz musician and the cold rain hitting his face as he walks home to the song of a memory and the smell of rain on brick -- almost sounds romantic, doesn't it?
You make my world romantic.
And not in the lovey-dovey sense of the word, not just that.
Romance as in the knight who seeks great treasure,
Mark Twain in his steamboat down the Mississippi,
The old sailor who sails the seas just for the constant surprise of just how beautiful the world is --
Romance as in adventure.
And you make me feel like the best kind of music,
And you make my heart beat faster than caffeine,
And you make me feel as beautiful as when the moonlight shimmer against the dark clouds and it looks more exquisite than anything Van Gogh did.
And you --
You're more handsome than a starry night,
Better than the smell of good coffee,
more than any prior fabrication I'd ever had of "perfect--"
And I love you.
More than the smell of rain on brick.