It was in the way he lifted her, first very low, almost causing an inverted curtsy and then up and up beyond all encrusted visage. He was not a man and he was certainly not a woman. He was something else, entirely. Because he was not hindered, because he was steady, she perceived him as a clean-cut-stronghold turning into tears and ice.
In her dreams, she had long been visited by a genteel Frankenstein. He propped her up so the weight of her entire body could rest on the curve of his skinless, largess knee. He felt familiar to her. What did not feel familiar were the grandiose tankards in the background, the enormous chunks of concrete, and the alluvium deposits shaping and reshaping the shades, inundating the cues.
In order to not block them out, in order to identify with what was not familiar to her, she needed to perceive the unfamiliars’ enormity as nature: floating in the froth of the sea and not disappearing below it. To do so required an absolute floatation device: a dream boat.
A dream boat is a bias toward bliss.