Whose beams and petals can be poisonous
To both men and frogs.
Bubbling skin presents in the first case,
The light of day anathema to our lives,
Proof that open sky rejects us all,
Without preamble or prejudice
Shining on through matt or glossy skin alike.
In the second, the pretty leaves tempt,
Flexing those skin-like cups in mockery,
Welcoming us to touch. To taste. To swallow.
She mines the bowel, growing roots that corrupt,
Branching out her death elegantly.
This way, I appreciate my enemy,
His glazed, inhuman eyes familiar
Through our twice shared vulnerabilities.
Somehow, it allows me to kill him better,
Knowing just how very alike we are.