words by dominic riccitello

skipping on fine white
coarse rose of his neck
twirling his spine
between my fingers
cracking on knuckles
crude thoughts in tune
vibrations and wet tissues
 
i spoke in intervals
solemn hello
you overdose on control
lie alone in unknown
licking envelopes
to send to shadows
dark rooms in old view
 
we spoke in tongues
a dark nostalgia
with memories i used to play
with staples in my mind
running backwards
towards nothingness
a bliss of ignorance
in men i used to
find art to