I’m the frog’s first love.
She is my first hate.
While she masks herself in ambiguity,
I look from the stretches of dream.
I want a flower’s outwardness, she said––
With a counterfeit smile.
And I believed in lover’s luck,
Because her eyes made me hot;
Slowly,
Like the wax beneath the candlewick slowly deliquescing.
You’re welcome to my ways, she said.
And my choices snickered.
There were bloodstains on white couches,
But my fantasies were ruled––
Through split second stares.
For I have left my mind, and put on love.
She remained bare.
The time’s ripe for a roaring girl––
To devastate me,
And leave me to drown in my own dust.
The end we all love.