Love is Like a Butterfly

Love is like a butterfly,
or so the saying goes.
But love could be a piece of fluff,
from between my sweaty toes.

Collected in that smelly place,
and picked out every night.
Spun from yarns of laundered socks,
It makes a pretty sight.

It reminds me of my woman,
and how our love has grown.
Memories gone of sad days past
when I had to wash my own.

It grows just like my feelings,
as between my toes I burrow.
Should I throw it in the bin,
or add to it tomorrow?

Savouring the moment,
I untangle thread and twine.
Breathing in the aroma,
like sampling fine wine.

It smells of lust and longing,
has the texture of chewy toffee.
Aroused to the point of no return
I drop it in her coffee.

Hope surges through my body,
as she drinks the aphrodisiac.
But it damn near chokes the girl to death,
I have to slap her on the back.

Now my plan is as redundant,
as thoughts of Kama Sutra.
Because breathless I'd imagined
but not the Heimlich Manoeuvre.

So let this be a lesson
in case you delve between your toes;
love is like a butterfly,
that's exactly how it goes!