when already in his mind he'd dusted himself off like a rooster run down the hotel stairs gotten on the train to quickly escape from her to where the black pepper grows
she, snuggling up to him with both eyes firmly closed had already built with them a house smelling of dinner and fresh children to which he'd just come running up the stairs
(in reality he and she had slept together for the first time and lying keep silent about this precisely in two foreign mutually unknown languages)
My translation of Polish poet Jรณzef Baran's "On i ona"