The ballroom of 10,000 angels
flooded with a single drop
of blood during a routine
cleansing.  My hand flinched at the sudden
sweet sensation of pinpoint pain, but
the needle, wedged tightly between fingernail
and flesh, didn't budge.  Over
its length flowed that single red
drop, like a bead of sweat that runs
down the back of a bare thigh.  Touching
fingertip to chin, the metal
sliver stood straight
up and I lightly set its shaft
on slightly parted lips then pressed
the tip of my tongue to it, tasting
myself.  I swallowed the small
amount of red-hot liquid iron and felt
the bodies of 10,000 angels
slide down my throat.