words by dominic riccitello

deepest of night
worm of my sky
earth of my day
i loved more than words could say
than wounds could feel
than earth could heal

it was ice
coldness like night
the wind of our eve
a butterfly locked from creed

our words were of caramel
sweet tune nectar
the letters, characters
who knew we’d play in such danger
that nice could float with subliminal hatred
and how people could sway
yet seem to hold so much pain