The dark was a friend 
For their tango; 
In the blankets
It would be bliss.
Silhouettes of two forms
Joined by passionate activity; 
It was a fever 
In their bones.
There was moaning 
And a creaking of the bed; 
A shout was the climax
The denoument was relaxing.
He rolled over and said
I love you; 
Then he sighed deeply
And went to sleep.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    