in between dreams

in between dreams;

you need a knife and pineapple,
i need a flame and canopy of stars;
underneath which, our fire can lick
the plated earth clean;

she spins a dance in our favor,
and throws us skipping darts,
on sheets that shroud
your glazed moist skin,

and allows our touch,
(across the universe) to nudge
our fingers, closely knit;
then feel each textured stroke,

one by one;
until the tropic of your cancer
rests, kissed softly to sleep
on the bed of capricorn's

long equatorial night.