Such lofty words. Is this really the same boy who blushed when I tricked him into holding his hand?

[That's a deliberate choice of word, boy. She remembers what he looked like when he came down the stairs for her, and he was anything but a boy, then.

Not so bad, perhaps, to remind him that he still can be, with her, if he wants.]

First you call me your goddess, now you write me poetry. Where has all your bashfulness gone?