Where bright blood flowed
across my carven chest,
I now feel only
warm, tropic raindrops.

Impassive priests once stood here,
clad in gold and feathers,
obsidian knives dripping gore.

And now a bored child sulks,
kicking at wet pebbles,
dragged unwilling to my side
by tourist parents.
Turning away, he spits pink
gum into my granite bowl.

There was a time when
I would have had
his beating heart.