First Love
Butterflies.
You're lying in your bed and it's 1 am.
You have butterflies.
You can feel your stomach tremble with every breath you take.
Your head is spinning and your face hurts.
You've been smiling for hours.
You can picture their smile in your head, or maybe their eyes, their hair, hands, the feeling of their touch, and the sound of their laugh.
You have butterflies.
And these butterflies are excitedly confused.
Why do you imagine these images and this touch?
It's slowly creeping up your shirt, pushing higher and higher until
Nothing happens.
Force it out of your mind. Force them out of your mind.
Your soul.
Your very being, which trembles in their wake.
You want to sleep.
You can't.
Even your dreams are filled with the Touch
Which wretches all it can.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Drops and Pen Stains
PoetryTravesty, overcome by little else but life's muses; It's jokes. All of this is my original poetry, please do not steal
