It Scares Me

It scares me,
this thing called love.
This fervour,
is new to me.
Is it love,
or zealous infatuation?

Imprinted forever
on the fabric of my soul;
the soft scent of cologne,
I gently kiss
the nape of your neck,
the soft, dry tips of
fingers, like smooth silk,
glide across my cheek,
the taste of salt,
lips meet in an intense 
moonlit, midnight kiss,
words spoken 
in whispers,
meant only for me.

Is it infatuation,
or can this really be love?
Near two months,
this strange emotion grows.
I like this feeling;
yet it scares me.