but there is too much fabric
to our clothes
and we would like to lie across
these cold tiled floors
but we fear eyes
and the way our cheeks and necks sink under gravity.
We call ourselves ‘we’
so as not to feel lonely
but the truth is that breathing
doesn’t have much to do with
shrinking and expanding.
Sometimes we pay attention
but most days we are saturated
(soft and spongey)
with apologies,
trying to articulate the color we see
beneath our eyelids.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem