Butterflies

“Stop it!” I say to the butterflies in my stomach.

Because it's too early for butterflies. Between your phone call last night, my second cup of coffee and the light rain outside, my stomach might as well take flight into the cool morning air that drifts into the open windows of my tiny apartment.

I missed your text this morning, just before 4 am and know you're out of cell reception but at some point today will get my response that came two hours later. The rain begs me to curl under a blanket with you, with hot cups of coffee: one black, one with cream and sugar. Jen said to me, “That's the funny thing about live bodies, they're warm”. And for a brief second I'm able to hold onto your warmth in my mind along with your particular scent. But then it's gone and I'm left with a crow outside my window and a churning in the pit of my belly. Traffic creates a steady whisper of the world moving on and I sip my coffee alone.

We talk of growing old together and my mind drifts to hot dusty wind in the east county, waking up in your arms every morning, a dog, avocado trees and a tiny vineyard. And that spot at the intersection of your neck, chest and shoulder, where I lean my forehead, smell your skin and absorb your warmth.

Sometimes your voice is so soft I can hardly hear you and I debate between asking you to repeat it or just closing my eyes and listening to the sound as your breath dances off my hair and the scruff of your beard scratches lightly at my face. I wait for the hint of a question at the end, or the trailing off of a statement or thought and worry about the magic lost in asking you to say it again. And there's something about the way your heart beats softly against your chest that slows my breath and calms the storms I keep inside.

The memory of your beautiful smile and eyes that danced under the brim of your hard hat somehow seems lit up, even in the darkness of the swing shift where you stole my heart as we scouted line to be burned. Isn't that funny? We met lighting a fire so intense it'll burn forever.