Butterflies Are Rare Poem by Shirley Harrison

I confess my very first love
was the one that gave me butterflies
the one, that made me
swing my arms around
in eternal hope
of never letting go

his hands, I wanted to hold
twenty-four-seven
and my smile?
well, it just wouldn't let me rest
not even as I slept
in sweet slumberbash

alas

it simply wasn't to be
and no matter of all the in-betweens
nothing could have saved our love

i'm not regretful
actually i'm most grateful

because love is…

profound pain
immense happiness
instability
loyalty
deceit
and sometimes jealousy
hell, even death

but I wouldn't want it any other way

because my darling
butterflies are rare.