Poetry

Could it be love if the way you look at me, when I feel your eyes on my cheek, makes my heart flutter like its wings want to take flight with yours?

Your house smelled like childhood and stale smoke. Your Boy Scouts uniform still hung in the coat closet, like a trophy of your youth.

Your kisses breathe life into the insects in my stomach. They are not just butterflies swarming deep within, but moths and wasps and wonderful things.

As we sit in silence, I am stuck with the sharp pains of butterflies swarming within me like killer bees Whenever you cross my mind. All I can ask myself is if I am falling in love with you. And if so, is it right?

At your front door, a row of shoes sat in various stages of wear. I added mine to the ones you just kicked off, and we ran to your room, for warmth and comfort and deep conversation.

Your words got me higher then the nights we spent hanging from the highest branches Staring at the sky. “Those are mine.”

Lovers like you are hard to come by. You’re the type to sweep a girl off her feet, before she even realizes that she’s off the floor.

My words turn to spirits and you drink them at night.

I’m no saint, But damn your smile almost makes me want to believe.

This was the part of the story in which I had realized that I had fallen so desperately in love with him, and he hasn’t the slightest clue that his smile was the reason my sun came up every morning to greet him.

I found myself falling in love in the back of your truck falling asleep in your arms.

The house you built me was made only of sticks and mud, yet it was still the safest place I could be, in your embrace.

If there is nothing else I can give you, I will give you all of me.