Miranda, What Did I Do?!?!?!

I've been trying to use this title for the longest, and finally, I'm making some headway. Anyway, so it's early in the morning or late at night, but I couldn't sleep, and so this is my obvious alternative. I wrote this poem a while ago and it's not true, well, not really anyway, not in the way that counts. So, you know, bear with me:

I love the way he smells
It's an aroma wrapped in autumn
A sensory assault draped in velvety dark brown
Like cookies on Christmas morning
Or breakfast in nothing but high heels
He gets me high
And I can't get enough
I love to stand close to him
To sidle up ever so close and breathe in deep
To inhale so enthusiastically that it tickles my taste buds and makes my toes curl
When he's away I wrap myself in his sweatshirts and imagine I'm wrapped in his arms
His musk intoxicates me
His scent uplifts me
He enfolds me and I breathe in deep against his chest
I love his taste, his touch, the sight and sound of him
But how I love the way he smells.

This isn't the final reading, I don't like the way that it sounds sometimes, and I'm working on that. But it's the main idea that I want to convey, so, yeah, there you go.