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We snuggled at ease in each other's arms, behind the kindly curtain of relaxing night, until they spilled their whispers under the door, camply vamping, and turning suspect the company I keep. I'm sleep-walking the top floor of my home, at the dome's summit, when I look down to perceive that the eaves have opened, the floor boards vanished, and I'm standing on a beam, with a dreamer's fear of falling. The appalling tick of the clock clicked the seconds, beckoning minutes, while each unsaid response wanted its screech recorded on a scratched plate - stating mistaken data on my inclinations.      There really wasn't anything to say -      or far too much, explaining all away.