A memory before sleep

Midnight is where you meet me
I hear your voice, but only fleetingly
Like crackles from the memory of a radio
I feel your words, breathing
A conch-shell promise, waves discreetly.

I am middle-aged too, now
You, of course, never were
Except briefly, incredulity
I deferred the row.

And now you speak, as midnight flashes
A perspiring moment that never lasts
But my eyelids flicker
Your voice like quavers
Staccato, Static
Gone.