Outbursts of butterflies float from the pit of my
stomach to the rifts of my ribs in a sweet explosion.
Though this belly of love has been their home for
many years, they have grown accustomed to my
transparent frame and refuse to leave—not that
I want them to go. I have also grown accustomed
to the fluttering wings that tingle against the chasms
of my body as I stare at your face. Though I wonder
why they haven’t flown away to the young hearts of
new love, I welcome them with open arms because
no residence could provide more warmth or affection
than the place they call home.