Candles flicker,
dark room thicker,
breath bubbles
in my lungs,
suppress a giggle,
heart flutters.
Internal torment,
ceaseless pounding,
reverberation,
makes me stutter.
Sixteen-year-old dreams
of rom-coms and foot pops
and sunset walks
make me shudder.
It's this gentle flutter,
elusive and exhausting,
mind wandering,
pulse dancing in my veins,
a different kind of fascination,
or maybe hesitation,
and crouching aspiration,
that makes me stutter.
A quick pucker,
and this different kind of flutter
will open the shutters.