i turn to key
your words against my knees
i bend in motion
to create ocean within thoughts
your eyes behind mine
i frolic between fine lines
white noise of your cries
echoes in thoughts transcend
we’re wavering on bumps
calluses of our skin
your door awakens
i can finally breathe
it feels like
just between you and i
tangos in screams
your neck is what killed me
little white lies
little fine lines
we make movement in time
pauses between chaos and rhyme
we work in thought
two and a head
spinning in question
to be or to break
to think or to ache
it was always orange
the color of
things that never made sense
hell which we questioned
i was tired
words by dominic riccitello
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