Love… Is a bed you make.

Love…
You got an idea of it right
Forehead kisses and long goodbyes
Butterflies dancing around a ballroom
You’ve always referred to as your stomach

Or maybe just maybe
It’s like the warmth of a weighted blanket
Not too tight that it constricts you
But instead freeing all the while losing control

Or maybe just maybe
It’s like the cushion of a pillow
Not too light that it escapes you
But instead firm all the while encompassing softness

Or maybe just maybe
It’s like the silk of a sheet
Not too thick that it traps you
But instead breathable all the while taking your breath away

Love…
You see
It’s comfort in knowing today’s troubles
Are met with forehead kisses and goodnight
Pulled back blankets and fluffed pillows
Bodies pressed against silk sheets

Stars dancing in the sky
Butterflies in the ballroom
You always referred to as your stomach