it's those butterflies again, 

beating against my heart,

afraid I'll swallow them down

before they can ever start 

to fly.

Before you say hello,

I'm ready to let you go,

but at the sight of the smile in your eyes,

the caterpillars that lay in my veins

in dormant cocoons

burst

into bloom.

Is now too soon

to tell you

I wait every day for the note you leave,

your gentle scrawl singing "Hey beautiful,

I was thinking of you."

Is now too soon 

to tell you

I'm too proud to admit 

I've been dreaming about you, too.

Your laughter over breakfast

has given me a reason to greet the rising sun

with joy and love of a new day come,

my wings like a monarch spread.

Is now too soon

to ask you to fly south with me?

Winter's coming, dappled frost upon my face,

a snowflake pattern the heat of your breath

kisses away.

Is now too soon

to migrate to a hidden place

where you and I are all wrapped up

in the warmth of each others bodies,

no more crying, no more pretend goodbye-ing

because even if now is too soon

to tell you I don't want to

let you go,

the butterflies know.

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