The shortest sentence in my autobiography is one word

please: there is no sating

here: there is enough and not enough:

prom dresses cluster together

in the front yard like a pack of wild dogs

who want to be petted into submission or

frenzy: a hand that is not my hand summons

both: later a hand that is my hand

does the same: I ask is it possible to beg

your own body: swallow a mouthful of amber

beer of dark liquor of smoke and nod:

of course it is: the body is a conversation: sometimes

when I think of quiet I confuse it with death: I sleep

not silent or silenced: I have let another mouth

take my fingers into it: I have wandered into the land

of yes and now: I have picked locks with my tongue:

can a body trespass on its own land: I asked

a body to keep me safe and I woke up years later

still asking: I want: I want: I want: Sometimes

a prayer is too much like begging for a respectable god

to answer: I curtsy like I was taught and wait

for the dogs to come home: tell me how to make you

smile: or let me guess until something clicks

open: