SavageFrog

Love lives out in the heat of the swamps, drags along riverbanks, scales fences, scavenges for food. Love prefers moonlit waters, knows you would rather drown yourself outright than be pulled under unsuspecting. Love is a cannibal, savors the soft parts— what rots first, what floats, what stashes easily under a rock or a log, what she can come back to later. Love takes the eyes first as a kindness in exchange for an eternal dark. Love tells you—gutturally, full of teeth— that she favors the mud at the bottom of Lake Okeechobee, a deathroll with your favorite donut-shaped pool floaty, the thrill of lakes unknown. Really, Love just hates the reflection of fear. She’d rather a surrender to the inevitable. Love likes to lay in the sun, warm her scales. Love is primordial: an alligator emotion, a creature of many forms. Her favorite form is this: blood dripping, belly full, red sun reflecting off the pink in her scales. Love claims neutrality—negativity, positivity, an eye of the