i speak only of beautiful things, i told the eagle

on my stomach. it pecked out my liver—a kindness.

it stopped the fire from reaching lower.

so girl means fire. i took fire from Him,

and in turn He locked me here.

i hear Him laugh from time to time. maybe

at me or maybe at the whims of the

beak that eats at me, the bird that torments

in His name with a nameless whip not in the book.

goddamn, says the girl who passes by. un-capitalized.

who tied you here, baby? and she spends

the rest of the summer cutting my binds.

she calls me love-talker. honey-tongue girl

with a mouth made for tasting. in turn i press

something sacred to her throat:

a kiss, the size of a pearl;

a pearl, that feels like a kiss.

in all this talk of kissing, i forget almost that we lay skin-to-skin.

my tongue buzzes with the taste of lost time.

she says here, we don’t worry about those things;

we have had our time; in the end it is all stardust.

in all this talk of kissing, i forget almost—

that my mortal sin of love weighs heavier

than any fallen god. that the devil himself

kissed a martyr on the mouth and i am the

same.

that i was made to claw out my liver till the eagle

came to feed, attached by god to a stone. that what i

made was the choice to stay chained.

show me your marble god, baby blue.

the bird pecks my mouth off this time. sorely,

i miss the pain.