How Butterflies Die

Comes from past experience.

I use to get butterflies every time I saw you

My face would blush

Matching the color of a ripe tomatoes

And I would giggle nervously

At every little joke you said

Sitting next to you

I was scared you would notice

My leg twitching ever so slightly

When you first texted me

I held my phone in disbelief

You wanted to play tennis sometime

And you claimed we were best friends

I saw you at church 

And sometimes you pretended not to see me

And sometimes you pretended not to know me

But you still gave me tight hugs

That smelled strongly of axe

You had a girl friend whose name was Kenzi

She barked at dogs and spoke Spanish

And sometimes I pretended not to see you

And sometimes I pretended not to know you

We didn’t speak for months

I saw you at Walmart buying Mountain Dew

My heart began to thump

I asked you about your life

Your eyes seemed to look everywhere

Other than at me

In the dimly lit parking lot

Your tongue was down Kenzi’s throat

And I didn’t want to see you

And I didn’t want to know you

The butterflies in my stomach died