what gives you butterflies

My curse is that I can not “get” butterflies

I know why I am like this
And so does my therapist

I have lived in so much scarcity that my butterflies center around stability
They feed off my own gut taking tiny bites out of the rotten ideals that fester there
When I have enough money
When I am correct in all my thoughts
As soon as I have all material needs meticulously enmeshed in an external experience within 6 rooms of my own choosing will I be good enough
to feel
butterflies flutter softly on my breasts,
trail down my abdomen
settle on a stomach full of anticipation and strong expectations of deeply deserved pleasure

My butterflies?

I have cut myself from their migratory patterns so hard that I have forgotten the way.

But if I pause, quiet the world, allow my eyes to soften and close, let my breath cycle between my mouth and my nose. I connect with parts of myself that once lived in eucalyptus groves that shelter cocoons ready to burst open

I remember
My butterflies came from places of pleasure instead of necessity.
I hailed and welcomed them to a space where only my pleasure was necessary

They would alight on satin touches, duvet words and pillowy kisses
play within small gestures
dance upon implicit omnidirectional trust
land on shared land of shared beliefs, motivations, curiosities and excitement
What my mind had forgotten my body now remembers

Blushing at the smell of fresh lined and untouched notebooks
rainfall in the middle of a summer day
a new adventure in a book first read,
writing until 3am,

Squirming at the thought of cut flowers and stolen kisses or outlandish declarations of devotion

Laughter as legs wind together in a journey towards being seen with mutual reverence
moe
magic both mundane and mythic

Clenching at the feel of skin slipped in shea and cocoa butter
smelling subtly of musk and sandalwood or frankincense or myrrh
a sleepy murmur in my ear saying I love you

Loving experiencing another’s joy in sharing something new or long known
mapping flesh and the memories each cell holds sacred and housed within

Swooning while eyes lock languidly in comfortable silence right before falling asleep

Knees weakening from lips on the back of my neck and the most vulnerable parts of me

Dripping with desire
from the cacophony
of a symphony
warming their wings before a flight that promises to leave my skin tingling
with a thousand little butterflies

My butterflies

fluttering softly on my breasts,
trailing down my abdomen
and settling on a stomach full from anticipation

My butterflies of strong expectations

My butterflies of deeply deserved and desired pleasure

Finding their way home.