I don't think stating that you make me melt would suffice, even if entirely clichè-

It's the icecream cone in the hand of a child during summer,
Melting away.

That's what you do to my soul when you first wake up and smile with your mouth closed,

And your first breath is dedicated to saying good morning to just me.

Bottle it up, dip my pen into it, and write you out pages and pages about the ways you make me melt-

It could be the way your skin warms against mine on cold nights,

The way your eyes ignite over the curves of my mind, the curves of my hips.

It could be the way your lips light fire to my spine when they embrace my own,

Or even when they whisper silly nothings into my ears.

Yes, I do melt at the sight of you thinking silently, within solely your own head.

I melt when you sing off key and drunkenly dance off beat.

I melt when you linger in the doorway and push your hair back the way I would right after you style it, simple to get a rise out of you.

I melt at the way your mind revolves around the finer things and not the ticking of a clock; you haven't time for keeping time, only time for what's important.

I melt when you laugh and when you smile, when you find me desirable even at my worst and when you close your eyes as you fall asleep.

I dip my pen into the ways you make me melt and write it all out for you to see

In hopes that maybe it'll have the same effect that you've had on me.