The toad of love

Love isn’t in my daily bread
nor in the corners of
insignificant temptations
so the check, re-check concludes. 

love’s a green/black bloated toad

playing “peek-a-boo, look at me”
in a senseless fantasy
before the hop and drop
into memory.

Toads croak when I’m asleep
and jump the lines of consciousness
meant to confine the mind
to the marshy swamps of life.

And it follows in my footsteps
like a ghostly apparition
in hop from air to land
as if it was a man
floating from a dream
into reality.

I love that toad wrought from soul
and will “tomorrow” when
“There, that’s done – here is love”
evades the obstacles
placed upon a lowly toad
in a fast paced city town.

But toads have left for pastures green
because life has moved the goal posts on
and that hippity-hippity, hip, hop-hop
in my senseless fantasy
maybe just a bug
in the sizzle of my love!