I want to dream my thumb
across the crook of your eyebrow, faces
just this close, post-
kiss.  I want to dream
your arms around me from behind,
one hand on my shoulder, a knee
at the small of my back to steady
my wild night ride.
I want to dream away

your wife, easily,
the way a cartoonist takes the soft
nub-end of a pencil and rubs
out her creation, to its amazement,
two eyes looming wide
above a limbless torso.  I want
to dream her a swift trip
into discovery:  religious conviction
or lesbianism, purpose
textured thick with 
permanence, something more viscous

than the vows spoke how many years ago?
each the other's second lover,
maybe third, which left you less able
to divide want from desire,
to cleave right through the pit
of decision,

through the furniture, the home
with its cracked, angular foundation,
time itself and its tick
which can affix us so firmly,
little red dots on the map of
our lives shouting out
I am here    I am here
until we believe it.  I stayed
in one place till I took
my own open hand to my own face
and now refuse to land
anywhere.  I want

to dream you into this roaming
life of mine, gypsies
in clothing we dance on
at night, around and around
the blaze of what consumes us,
laughing into the wind
at the few coins it cost
to become tumbles of rough,
dry grass sparking
across the horizon.