Butterflies

I want to hold your hand and see

Is it cracked and dry like mine from

Steam

Does it smell of coffee and cream

Sour milk stained cotton

Chocolate worn like a second skin

I want to strip back each layer of sweet mess and

Lunch time stress

I want more than a five minute overlapping shift

I want to wash your hair

And soak your skin

Then drain away the day’s detritus

Dance and spin and laugh and sing

With Aretha there to guide us

I want to break open the cold glass cases

And swallow the butterflies that rest there

Instead of gazing at their sleeping forms

And donating some new ones

I want to know your every nuance

I want you to want me to.