Eagles, I’m told, will mate in free fall, spinning a torment of feathers and lust. Talons clutch the rich other body… and sometimes, they won’t pull apart before they hit the ground. You know when you’re falling. You’ve had this dream. You always wake up, before you die. I knew I was falling but I took him in anyways. Love’s rare in these mountains. I saw a child, soft inside him, fair skin brushed with blood, the rush from his heart– a cross-stitched organ. I feel it, I can’t tell if it’s his or mine beating. We’re falling. We were falling. Just before we hit I flew away.
