Twisted, twisted man. Eagle beak, lion’s claws. All fingers, tongues and teeth. Sweltering, parting my legs, bearing down on my insight. As I knew this is how it would be, my brother, my brain, my psyche. Conscience, what conscience? Neither of us has one as we delve into the parts of each others bodies, smelling sweet, tasting salty. As he sleeps, I am off gallivanting, playing double agent, playing the part of the innocent. And he slumbers in the coldest spot, I’m convinced, in this state. And I smile, grin, play up to the groups of people who know me only as upstanding. And I lie. I lie like I was taught before. I lie like I was never on that roof, like I never assaulted anyone. Like I never needed to leave the protective circles of my woman’s arms to find a thrill in someone else’s pants. Wait a minute, that really wasn’t me, but it might as well have been. Lying, a second language, dancing on my tongue and out before I have the chance to recapture it. Fluent, fluid, I believe them myself otherwise I couldn’t make the words. And what does it matter, my teacher never got caught before. Or if they did, plausible excuse is their middle name.

But the temptation lingers, even if I am convinced indeed I will go to hell for this, and the abrupt weight and sweet pressure he would put on my thighs, yanking me into only the now, the immediate, makes me want to drive to find shelter under his cleffed chin. Crook myself under him, his dark body, his hesitant mouth. Seeking , searching for what it was I thought I found already, and yet have to beg for still to this day.

In this place I never beg, I am granted my wishes with a kiss on the forehead and a hipbone grind, being lifted up in two hands and bashed against a wall. Thud, thud, thud. And all is quiet to make room for the sounds of dragged cigarettes, the crinkled sounds of a wintered outside, and the paper-thin ripping of my heart. I'll sleep more hours away, being comforted by the thought of the griffin's wings.

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