Kissing the Frog
i.
At the all-night Pancake House,
the plastic seats cracked
and the water glasses etched
by 1000 washings, we connect
eagerly, hurried in from
opposite directions, pale and damp.
At home, we each have
someone perfect we can’t trust—
striped shirts, blond wrists.
Hunched over our cups,
we recall mouth-watering days
at the river. Mayflies hovered
on slack eddies, the sun
leached all colors to olive drab.
Should I ask if you still believe
in wet kisses rising
to the surface like catfish?
Should I say
I’m still the same hungry princess
prying at the sticky menu
where I wish to find our story,
read it out loud and discover
what comes after happy.
Is it the picture of me lying
on your chest?
The slithery touch? Is it the kiss
that changes your face?
Imagine us. How it would be
to open our ribs,
to gather in the small, dark frogs.
- We Call Upon the Author to Explain—Timothy Geiger - May 4, 2026
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- Project Bookshelf: Rachel Bulman - May 1, 2026



