it is not butterflies you placed in my tummy,
but large ferocious birds,
with wingspans fluttering against the inners of my
lungs,
beaks prodding my intestine,  
their necks snarling with my esophagus.
their caws pulsate in and out my pores,
and these birds want to fly, fly, fly
towards you.
but i bite with anxious molars, and their blood tastes like
cranberries.
choking up red soaked feathers,
i wonder if you have birds
too.