Cryptic Riddle

Frozen in stone a lion kneels in a sandbox built for four, Guarding a gate to the galaxy which breathes beneath the floor. Nearly thirty degrees north and thirty-one east, On a map should your finger prick, Shall be where one may find this beast, Whose dry tongue gives a scratchy lick. Nineteen and two thirds north and nearly ninety-nine degrees west, The sun and moon stand with a serpent adorned in winged dress. Between two lands that share a name, Though they’re called by cardinal direction, And above their center which we call the same, There crumbles these three Dead erections. At each location they were confused as crypts, In truth they’re electromagnetic spirit ships. Sailing by mystic and astronomical cartography, Embalmed passengers travel via quantum topography. Made of LAMb which goes well with jelly of MINT, Tick-TAK-toe connected specks reveal such puzzling hints. Align the lines within this rhyme to see between the middle, To see that which I refer to in this pyramidal riddle.