Butterflies.

You give me the butterflies. The kind that doesn’t just fly, the ones that swirl and do jumps and twirl about. The new red bicycle that you got when you were 4, so shiny with the big red bow. The feeling when you see puppies in the window or as you walk on the sidewalk, skipping. The feeling of a summer day, melting ice cream down your chin, cool lake breeze and sun glasses.

I want to get tangled in hotel sheets, while the window is open letting the cold air come through. Feet intertwined, sticking out at the end so they are cold, yet warm, as they get lost as one. Entranced in thoughts as the music surrounds us. Rain pouring on the roof, falling on the concrete, pitter-patter. The smell extending and merging with the fragrance of fresh shaven whiskers and cozy vanilla candles that light the room with intense passion. Eyes that give the need and desire to be alive soften, as the whispers in the ear get louder. Then all is still except, the rain, quick breathing, cool breeze, and the butterflies.

These butterflies wont stop flying.