Butterflies

It had been an interesting evening,
A first date,
She was weird --
In the best possible way.

She turned phrases,
Used words,
Played with them,
Twisted them,
A conversation with her,
Was magnificent.

I walked her to her door,
We talked quietly for a few minutes,
I ask her,
"May I kiss you?"

She answered,
Matter of factly,
"Of course,
A first date,
Good night kiss,
Is expected,
By both."

I gently tilted her head,
Slid my hand from her chin,
Around to the back of her head,
And,
Pulled her toward me.

Our lips met,
Tenderly.

(She tasted of the chocolate brownie,
She had had for desert.)

( I wondered how I tasted to her.)

The kiss lingered,
Softly.

Tongues,
Barely touched,
Between parted lips.

As our lips parted,
She hugged me close,
And,
Whispered,
Almost silently,
Into my ear,
"Your kiss,
Is like,
Butterflies --
In my vagina."

Then,
She turned,
Opened her door,
Entered.

Paused,
Winked,
Said,
"Call me."

And,
Closed,
The door,
Behind her.