Feeling a certain kinda way

I  see where this is going...
He calls me butterscotch and I melt,
I'm syrup running through the cracks in between his fingers.
And I don't have a name for him.
nothing seems to fit-
all titles fail the way he makes me feel
He keeps books about Crystals and third eye spirituality on his nightstand
and its all a little too at peace for me.
Meditative love that I can only imagine
that might overwhelm me should I imagine.
He ends his sentences with baby and I get dizzy...
He says my name slowly, once, twice, three times.
my knees buckle-
The brother is smooth.
and I wonder if he's a little too smooth.
I fret over how alive he makes me feel
I'm concerned over the way my face flushes
when he licks his lips.
I'm preoccupied with how well
our bodies fit together while sleeping.
I roll my tongue against the roof of my mouth when I write about him.
I bite the skin on my knuckles when I remember his voice.
It's all too much.
And its never enough,
I'm beginning to crave it.
I recall how he tastes, I've memorized how he smells
Now I want to learn how he feels...
I mean, this shit is bad.