words by dominic riccitello

to seethe our moment
near a candlelight dinner
in virtue of our past
i’m ringing phones of men i miss
while strolling down corridors of horrors i held
i feel you in distance of what we had
creating voices in truth of moments rescind
i sit at a table
alone on the day we met
holding edges of plates
throwing ashes from candles near windows of mist
we blanket our truth
create visions of moments we end
feel like a masochist in summer nights
to feel blue in winter fumes
of heaters near cold sheets
i felt your heart
before you felt it
touched your lungs
before air could kiss
the words of your lips
i miss you in winter nights
yet colors fill the room
and what we said
was only said
and things
always
end