Anomolies That Guess Us

Concrete feathers adorn her eyelids. As she blinks in my direction. The serpent on her doorstep seems an obvious cliche. As I reach to feel a heartbeat staggering beneath her breast.

It's just a metaphor she said. I'm not scared. Of sleeping in the warm beds of bears. Nor of being found that way. Eyes closed. Claws open. The porridge still warm in my belly. As I become their meal.

The trench coat on her thighs. Acting the detective. As I sneak inside. Bored with murder. Bored with victims. Ready to be punished for my crimes.

She whispers from inside her shell that it's not so simple. Gods arrive in variables. A series of numbers pretending to reveal. Places we've already been. She laughs. Kites in the wind. Once attached to the broken string on her wrist.

She plays checkers with the demons. A simple game of strategic movements. She plays chess with god. She can't beat him, but she never loses.