I don’t want a prince

We cannot embrace,

we cannot make love,

we could kiss

(could be messy)

and you’d no longer be a frog

and anyway

I don’t want a prince.

We could touch,

briefly,

before your hop

takes you out of reach

and where you stop

could well be a hiding place.

Suffice for the moment

the embrace of sight:

you to me,

me to you,

large or small

depending on view.

We may not share love

for you see peril

in your tiny eyes

but I see,

however small you be,

creation’s artist

in disguise.