words by dominic riccitello

i have not a poem
a word
or thoughts

we held a rail
talked of openness
miles upon queries
moments we subconsciously treasure

our faces held walls
legs to fall
we twirled for days
lusted and twisted
and killed in ways
we couldn’t quite understand

the grigio and noir
glass which broke
i loved the walls and climb
but the fall had depth
and swung tangled feet

he was impetuous
with a touch of perfect
we were an interstate
a perpendicular intersection
where we met for a moment
and continued on endlessly