A multi-storey frog menage a trois
(Erotic reptilian sandwich)
Squats on the sand,
Locked in a Dionysian mystery.
Three sets of gold black eyes, slits lit in ecstasy.
Top of the heap,
A mounted male's throat-throb Is the only indication he's alive.
Three khaki heads, wrinkled's Methuselah
Their temples, parchment thin
As tearable as tissue,
Face the pond.
The female hugely sits
On her squashed blond belly
A clamped and clammy love cushion,
Sagging beneath the weight Of a double whammy.
Her piggy-back partner
Rifts a monstrous croak,
And off she hobbles, slow as a Rajah's elephant
Under a heavy houdah.
Her procreating cargo, perched precarious.
Life, and the hunger for life
With frogs, is emphatically gregarious