“The Sapphic Prometheus”

The gods’ mistake was saying forever

and thinking they wouldn’t have time

to fall for each other.

That a titan and an eagle

couldn’t find more in common

than pain and a full belly

if they had forever to figure out.

On a long enough timeline

a liver is as good as a promise,

claws kiss as deeply as a tongue,

and the right kind of pain

is calligraphy.

They were made for each other,

their little hurts and epistles

finding hope in hunger

and the will of the gods.

The titan’s stitched over skin a wax seal

on a red love letter.

Dear eagle,

Tear the mailbox of my torso

open each day.

Find, purpled and wine drunk,

ripe and sweetly bleeding,

this thing again.

This everyday gift.

This love letter

I made just for you.

The eagle eats,

learns the nuances of flavor

tastes the difference

between meat that is taken

and meat that is given

and learns to push past the liver

past the pink waterfalls of flesh

and, soft as a kiss, hushed as a whisper

closes its beak around the titan’s heart.

Flying away the bird will hope

that its feast will grow back.

Watching the bird, the titan

knows that what was eaten was given

and what was given

will have to be held.