I've said too much, I've said enough

S comes to me through an ever so hypnotic daze, dancing on top of the raindrops like a butterfly. She speaks, I see her lips moving but I register no sounds. It must be the alcohol, strange things can happen after a bottle of Burgundy wine. She has a redish, almost purple, stain on her silk jacket, on her left breast. I stare at it, it stares back at me. She notices, looks at me and smiles like only she can. I'm slowly melting, my body as tense as a violin string in the ouverture to Tosca. On her bed, right beside her, I slip in and out of a sleep-like state of physical numbness, listening to her breathing getting heavier, more erratic. I suddenly regain feeling in my left hand, on the inside of her warm soft thigh, halfway up her cream-white Versace dress.

Is it just a dream?