butterflies, softened
It’s almost uncomfortable. almost.
The way you make me feel – unreal unfamiliar but not unclear. Even though I’ve never felt them before, I know exactly what they are. Butterflies.
I’ve heard people talk about this before, and thought them crazy or caught in the throes of some lustful intoxication that feels like lust but I’ve felt lust and this is no duplication. The funny thing is that it’s not constant, I only seem to get this electric fluttering when we’re on that same wavelength.
Like … connected. I hate that this feels fated. Men are normally the ones who feel that about me. And I enjoy that high and indulge. It’s easy for me to tune into other people, to feel their feelings in my body, to intuitively be able to draw the stress from their bodies, insinuate peace into their minds, to get them to feel me, to feel me the way they can see some version of the real me. I guess that’s the reason I’m always the one to leave.
But man… these butterflies. My belly dancing with your memory in it. Fluttering and diving, just thinking of you. Like an insane person. Like one of those crazy, about to fall off the cliff into love people. Man, am I in trouble…
I’m so afraid to feel this way, to be swept into being into you or letting you be into me and I can’t figure out why. I guess I am too impatient and both tired of waiting and in love with the agony of being only 80% sure that this fever is mutual. All I’ve got is what you say and do to me, which technically is enough but I hate assumptions. But there’s so much enjoyment in being courted and taking it slow.
So I can’t give in to the temptation yet. Not with the lingering promise ahead. Not when this living buzzing feeling inside feels so good.
Not when I know what I know in the light with you. Not when you tell me you can’t make love to me in the dark because you have to see me. Not when you climax from our kisses. Not when you say such brilliant things for no reason. Not when you remind me of my beauty. Not when you make such beauty out of sound.
Part of it IS lust. I admit that. I can’t lay on my stomach on my bed anymore – it always ends the same way with my thighs pressed together longing to feel you behind me..pushing… grinding… mmm….
Wait, what was I saying… oh yes… part of it IS lust but it’s only a part, this isn’t an accident, or just the juxtaposition of our bodies bringing each other earthly satisfaction. I guess it’s like you said, there’s no way we can keep away from each other and restrict this to “just friends”. Or that other time you talked about how we are so pulled to each other. Or how, given the chance, we go to crazy lengths to see each other for tiny snatches of time.
I learned this during our recent starvation from each other. I still couldn’t escape your eyes in my head, and this went way beyond wanting you back in my bed. I wanted you opinion, to hear you smile, to make you smile. And if I take this fate back to bedroom states, yes, I don’t just want to be pleasured by you, I want to find every way to please you that I can.
So infinite, definite, intangible, and yet real enough to touch. Lust and something turning into love, so scary when I normally have such control over my emotions. I can get to the edge and back up. With everyone else but you.
I hope. These butterflies will loan me wings…