words by dominic riccitello

we’re touching lips
in the midst of our demise
feeling his hands
and they feel like hell
we’re at each other’s neck
kissing death
and i feel it
triumph and horror written on hotel paper
sweat drips from his back
we’re dancing in devastation
i’m watching his love in grip of men
who twirled between this
and i thought i felt it
but what was it