My love says she likes me because I'm such a great deipnosophist, a sanguine fellow whose susurrus musings crepitate with a farrago of meanings, a protean and hortatory munificence that brings her to her knees in delight.
I adore her as well for the beatific rapprochement she accedes to even when we expatiate on and on about things mercurial.
Yes, I will always adore her lissome acquiescence to the inexorable germanity of the simple fact that we're simply head over heels for each other, if you know what I'm trying to say.