In the touch of our fingertips worlds of memory collide,
Birthing in us a longing older than the stars.
Head on pillow and the ether fills with dreams,
Each a burning star in the universe of your eyes, turning.
Night, with hands of stars she squeezes at our heart,
squeezes a bitter sweet wine
that drips onto the nocturnal sky
where our dreams with burning feet swirl and write.