- you have bug-eyes, webbed-toes, and a suction-cup grasp on my hand, and i'm hoping your skin never sweats. you eat chocolate grasshoppers like candy and sometimes ribbit in your sleep. when i wake you, you tell me you were dreaming of mudpies and a melody created at dusk. sometimes, i wonder if you're more frog than man, but you aren't turning green yet. you waste time hopping from foot to foot, promises croaked from your throat. your irisies are dark, almost black, and much too small for the white space surrounding them. and sometimes, when i wake, i find you huddled at the window letting raindrops soak your stringy hair. but baby, i don't care that your tongue is too long and your feet stick to the floor when you're barefoot. at night, you wrap me up in your arms and whisper, gently, your cadences of 'i'llloveyouforever's and 'i'mneverlettingyougo's. and who cares if you sometimes dream in black-and-white or grumble about flies between snores? it's the quirks that make you wonderful. it's the frog in you i love.