words by dominic riccitello

a hand atop your chest
the warmth of your breast
with legs twist
i feel your pulse with my knee
the soft of your thighs
how they speak to me
mountains make drafts
the way i do with words
as you grasp my hand
we find each others faults
in our madness
create tension where there’s heartache
i left your toothbrush in my cabinet
for a year and half
because it knew no difference
the way minutes pass 
and we reminisce in the goodness of our past
the hurt, the devotion can vanish
leave a soul without intention 
minutes form hours
hours form years
things begin to drift
emotions eventually lift