The strumpet and the toad.

Beneath the lilac underground
where lily pads survive,
on mould, you hold
the only thing worth holding,
the key.

You attempt to jump through the high reeds,
despite your weak back legs.
You swim through ponds too wide while
I confide in the Devil, in the madness
and the powers that destroy.

Steal my kiss
in the earliest hour when the Sun
doesn't know how to reach the sky.
For I die a little every moment
my eyes adjust and your eyes are orange

and your oozing flesh is not as elegantly built
as the frog that lives next door
and greets me
with a neon green
that increases the pulse

while your skin is dull and dark and boiled.
I want you still
when the fill
of neon green has left my
less than royal system.