lock-picking practice with you

on the side of the highway we 
have to get into your face. a hawk
comes & says, "that is not your car."
on our second date you showed me 
how easily you could enter any door.
you laid out your lockpicking tools
on the kitchen table in the apartment
without any air conditioning. i remember
the fan stirring the afternoon like a spoon
in thick broth. the implements reminded me
of dentist picks. i opened my mouth.
you laughed & said, "let me work for it."
we got into your car & drove until the towns
lost their stop lights. until the mountain
was hairy & real. i build futures 
wherever the sun is toothless. the hawk
would unlock the door to my apartment
& you would come in uninvited. 
i didn't mind so much. i was in the process
of losing my sense of self. the town asked,
"are you staying?" i replied, as i always have,
"no, i have to open another basement."
you showed me how easily a lock 
can come apart in the right hands. 
gentle, never forceful. the sliding
of each tooth into place. i would wake up
with a man in my mouth who 
i didn't remember. instead of kicking
him out i would give him a key & explain,
"i do not know what i want, you can 
tell me if you like." he would respond,
"tell you what you want?" i reasonable question.
me, "yes." once when you were asleep 
i took the tools into my own hands.
decided to practice on the safe in the back
of your closet. i worked for hours. could not
remember your technique. the safe
turned into a hawk. red tail. he said,
"open yourself first." i ran away. took a walk
around the block. looked at the houses 
without windows & the empty mountain church. 
everyone was playing with their lockpicks. 
when i came back the hawk was telling you
what i did. it was actually a relief
to have a truth to suck on together.
you asked, "what are you trying to find?"