“Marry me,” said Frog to Fly.
Fly considered the offer.
She considered the advantage of moving on up
Just a smidge in the evolutionary neighborhood.
Her diet of rotting carcasses
And wild pungent fermented shit
Made her first question her own judgment.
“The marriage between a fly and a frog is folly,” she thought.
But to Fly there was such an attraction in this idea:
Never being alone,
The imagined feeling of swimming in water,
The stability of land access over flight –
It all excited her into a near panic.
“A husband!” she mused but knew deep in her fly heart
How it would take her some time to grow
Accustomed to his green skin
And his propensity for hopping.
She would wear his skin by proxy,
Finally, she would have an exterior life.
To feel things on the outside of her body,
She imagined herself as green as spring.
“Marry me,” said Frog to Fly
And a tsunami of giddiness swamped her
Making her dizzier by each second,
Feeling desired she grew desirous;
Feeling wanted she suddenly felt wanting.
“Never was a love so true, so constant
So pure and intact!” she thought.
Never, too, was a love so ravenous -
As Frog croaked just once more,
And with a “schloop” of his tongue
Pulled Fly in and swallowed her whole.
Her final thought was gratitude
For to Fly, to be consumed by one great love
Was the highest form of being.
As she was slowly digested,
Deconstructed, embroiled by Frog’s digestive juices,
As she disappeared particle by particle,
The experience confirmed as true everything
Fly believed about love.
Frog’s only response was a gentle burp
Which sounded oddly enough
A little like the words: “Marry me.”