When my body had just been brought into the light of the sun,
it was like that:
vulnerable and easy to be loved.

I could effortless fall into slumber.
Untill when I found myself alone with strange thoughts.
Loving became tortuous.

My skin feels so susceptible to outside stares,
it suppresses a number of muscular activities,
such as resting, letting go, breathe.

Breathing: the precursor of a voice attempting to express itself.
Breathing: that has neither tongue, nor jargon.
A wheezing that is freed when I dance

or when he hums.
We had to surrender to the lyrics
when we couldn't find the right words.