The Butterflies in My Stomach

I grew up with the sentiment that "butterflies fluttering in your stomach" was a sign of falling in love.  

To some degree, it is the truth.  

When I'm with you I think I'm in love, but these butterflies don't flutter 

 A molten, iron clad truth.  

No, their delicate wings don't flap like wind-swept soft petals in the pit of my stomach. 

 A bittersweet and sour truth. 

Instead, they rampage in furious zeal, with their teeth gnawing at my insides 

A blaring and blinding truth.  

They dig with sharpened claws and climb the constricted tunnel of my esophagus 

A beautifully haunting truth. 

 Determined to pry apart my jaw and burst free to proclaim what I, as a coward, cannot 

    An inescapable truth. 

              I love you.