Aquila

Aquila

by Eileen

I can't call you one of mine because you're not, but if you were I'd wear you on my arm, let you press your face into my cheek and feed you from my fingers, thumb braving the curve of a hooked mouth carved for killing.

Instead, I settle for blunt nails and revel in the graze of sharp teeth, always wishing my smallness didn't compel you to be so gentle with me; when I look into your eyes lit gold it's impossible not to draw the comparison between man and bird. My Garuda, my Aquila, they name constellations for you.

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