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Butterflies

I hear the butterflies flap their wings

when he gazes my way.

I see the butterflies flutter around

in the skies of his eyes.

I taste the nectar of which the butterflies feed

in the warm mist of his presence.

I feel the butterflies in my stomach,

almost irritating,

but oh so natural as

the craters on the moon's sharp crescent.

And then he blinks

a silent promise kept,

as my heart sinks to the greatest depths.

But just as prompt, flies right back up

like the waterfalls that moisten his luscious lips,

yet not even a word is spoken--

just a pricking from

the rose thorn's tips.