It all starts...

Butterflies,
Flutter and tease.
Warmth melting like butter,
Slips over my tongue with its oily silk.
Reaches up with heated palms,
Grasps my cheeks and burns them pink.
I can’t breathe, or think of anything but you.
And every thought breaks over me in waves of girlish affection
Honey, almost too sweet,
Drips its molten gold down my throat,
Slips through me,
Slides, slow as the time that oozes
When I meet your momentary glance.
An instant when our shy, playful game is abandoned,
And it traps me in your eyes.
Those eyes that burn through me and make me yours.
And hope beats its fragile, dusted wings
Against the tornado that the leathery bats of doubt stir up.
A glimpse of ivory amid the dowdy, churning grey.
A speck, a chance, a thought.
The hint of a smile I almost miss.
Trying in vain to suppress the images that our fleeting encounter
Liberates from the deepest, most private recesses of my heart.
A touch...
A kiss...
And then a shiver, far beyond control,
Delicious thrills that threaten to drown all my reason,
But instead, bubble up and surface only as a mischievous lift
Of the corner of my mouth
And dangerous eyes,
Lowered away from you, so you can not see their reckless gleam.
And I cast a furtive look carelessly, carefully,
In your direction.
Wondering every second, if that smile means you feel it too,
If you think of me the way I think of you.
I always know when the coy touch of wildness takes hold,
Overwhelming every breath in my volatile being.                              
I sense its birth and dread it...
With indecent excitement.
I love, hate, long for the allure of unbridled emotions.
Irresistible.
Like the sky and the wind and the earth
Before a storm.
The whispered promise of a dream, intangible as mist.
Never knowing for certain,
The pendulum swing of hope and doubt.
Subtle gestures, words scented with suggestion.
Their perfume drawing me inexorably closer.
Attempting to unravel the enigma,
But never truly wanting to.
Trapped willingly in the enticing eye of chaos,
Laughing with the keening winds,
Desperate to be swept away.

But it all starts
With the butterflies.