Fluttering about, they crowd the skies, their wax-paper wings catching warm breezes. And my stomach does the same, the way the earth falls away when you walk too close to the edge -giddy with anticipation of a moment that will never come. Never be mine.
Your hand brushes mine- and accident I know, but my heart can't help; it leaps and sings for joy. And once again I churn over the thought, the possibility of perhaps letting you catch me staring at the way the light settles on your shoulders.
If I were to let my eyes wander across your jaw, skip across your lips. Let myself admire the stardust scattered across your cheeks and the gentle ***** of your brow. If I only had the courage to explore the endless depths of your eye like a sailor at sea.
You are far too wonderful and I have no answer as to what I must do when the need to weave my fingers through yours overtakes me.
So I pray to Artemis, Sappho, Persephone, any who would heed my call: that you might look at me, and perhaps grow to love me in that same way. That when I summon up the courage, they might soften my fall and slow my descent.
One week into living with them some small butterflies migrated through our neighborhood, and masses and masses of them were drifting all about. I'd resolved to tell them on Valentines day, hoping that they might feel the same and deciding that I didn't want the crush to go away.