The ghosts rest, defeated,
Under the slats of the bed.
We have exterminated them
Under the weight of joyful entanglements.
Dreams crowd on our pillows. They become real
In compelling astral conjunctions.
The sexual embrace of hope
Gives birth to miracles.
Strenuous, under the sheets, we plan to land
Where reluctant vigil and desires
cast their anchor in waiting list.
In this harbour of pleasure, we collide
And fulfil the night to create tomorrow.