This Is Falling

It isn’t merely a glance over the rim of your whiskey glass

or the smile that seems like a charm you’ve used on many others before me.

It isn’t the way you walk, talk,

or hold your cup of coffee.

It’s more than just the way you look when you’re standing before me as I slowly undress you and move to explore your body with my

hands,

lips,

tongue,

gliding and roaming and moving over all of those little spots that you love to have touched and kissed.

It’s more than the heavy breathing and fogged mirrors,

the traces of our hungry love-making,

the clothes forming a trail from the den to the bedroom.

It’s the gentle kiss upon my forehead as your arm encircles my waist,

holding me closer to you as I nuzzle into your chest.

It’s the soft laughter that escapes from my lips when you wiggle your eyebrows.

It’s the way you pay attention to my different moods when I’m unaware of my changes,

and the way I don’t mind the cold when I know you’re lying next to me.

It's hearing you in my favorite songs,

even the orchestral and instrumental ones,

with swells of violins,

cellos,

pianos,

and acoustic guitars.

It's akin to the feeling of running through a field of flowers,

or a bank of snow,

or a rainy city with you playfully chasing me

and pulling me to you for one of those kisses that I thought only existed for the women in my favorite romantic comedies.

It's knowing that the reason you're not "Prince Charming"

is because you're already a king.

It's the way that being around you comes with a sense of comfort,

even when there is excitement in the air

from our sexual tension and chemistry.

This. . .

This is falling.

In Love.