As a skin duplication
the body lets itself heat
as a preparation for sex.
The latch unleashes
in certain moments of the wishes struggle,
when they overlap
over the facts.

Nobody confuses days with nights anymore
nor with the enlighten darkness
inside us.
Thus we don’t know why
our guilty silence is laying.

In the depths of the unspoken words
there’s too much distrust and grumble,
lack of vitality and action.
Our poor bed
has less and less heat,
there’s no spark to light that
expanding wind fire.