Wet wings fluttering,
our bodies shuddering
as his hot-iron halo
saws into my skin.
Fingers elongate to claws and
blood wheels in veins—
the immortal martyr wrestles,
dragging me to a sweet inferno
until at last he howls—
the knell of a god
forgetting me,
forsaking me.
My groan hushes
to a penitent whisper;
his thrashing slows
to the lilt of a hymn.
Silent, he rises,
unfurls his wings
now raw and ragged:
sanctity’s illusion penetrated.
In his wake
I stare at the sun,
transfixed,
as it burns like a heretic.
