I dream in the dark of night. Dreams start with a bit of truth, a random scrap of experience - a brush of silk, perhaps, or a flash of a well turned leg well shod, maybe a candle lighted glimpse of bare breast in a smoky mirror. And then they build. The scraps combine into patterns and forms. Then a kaleidoscope of scraps convolves and tumbles into passion and then climax. Come dream with me.
