words by dominic riccitello

i sip the pinot
think of him
in the night
we go forth
dragging our toes
pulling hairs
frolicking in a show
i said he was mine
a few times
he flew
a few times
we twirled in days
where things made sense
before senseless became
the majority
i twine with
as he twines elsewhere
i loved
as he once did
like he once could
when hairs stood
from your neck
to your legs
and passion lingered
from your bones