Interrogate my body. Question the heart why its beat is five times more fast, its rhythm many times more irregular. Examine the way the skin flushes, the nervous tics of two slick hands. Demand answers from its lips, red-bitten and sore. And chase that errant voice -- why is it gone when you are near? Interrogate my body. But do not blame me for its sins. I will give you none of the answers, and all of the truth: It wants. It wants. It wants. I have no shame left to pay for it. Interrogate my body. It is a mess of flesh and blood; it is a body in love; it is a body. There is no controlling it.
Life update nap time. Fact: you can write an entire short piece walking down P Faura.