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Premenstrual editor: Every other Friday is reserved for baleful stares and muttered imprecations, I’m afraid; we can only fit in a full-blown fight every six months!

The stage is set, the lantern lit, the evening dissolves into a dream.
Whirling dancers tangled in a minuet, lovers bound by a string.
The troupe assembles. The cast select, the roster called and all are met.
The actors in a mirror stare as one by one the mind begets its players fair.
The tome is opened the lines are read and all together the stars are fete
In balance on a single hair as Oedipal sagas, Euclidean chronicles and all the manifold of quests and yearns unfold onto the head of a pin and yawn wide before the chasm…
and once are closed again and morn has come and dawn has broken and twisted seemings of half truths pirouette before the aching bones of slumber and we are cast again into the open

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Obnoxious editor [for once speechless]: !