Reptilian Imposters

The ferns.
The newts.

Like venomous snakes,
We approached.
Slithering atop April grass,
Green,
An electric pigment of nature,
Over which we tumbled,
Towards our prey,
Us reptilian imposters.
Our limbs tangled,
Clumsy without purpose.

We are snakes now.
Authorized to title every action,
Of our foreign, lamellar skins.
We no longer belong,
To anything in particular,
Only to the sweet comfort.

The ferns.
The newts.