5 We weigh in moments, temporary possibilities. I waiver in desire to feel sensation of a fleeting question. We form meaning in moments, brief starvation of our minds. You either understand possibilities or you question them.
your teeth upon mine
mind beneath the twilight
the grip of a light tight
to be yours from moonlight till sunrise
your arms, the warm
it’ll always be
my heart, your door
the stairs to yours
i can still feel echoes
bright lights of twilight
idealistic fixations
a broken homicide of his mind
we range to decipher
romance between despair and desire
it was always your name
the scent in the eve
memories of spinning
moments turned broken
dishes in the sink
tuesday morning was the brink
two devils and a street
hope is always a beautiful thing
thoughts from a tiny couch
in longing memory
i always found you there
down by the street
where i met you in the summer of the snake
on a street called venice way
the light was too dull
words by dominic riccitello
have you ever felt a moment for more than it was
dangling in truth before it’s gone
wading in a rapid before it pulls too hard
i used to touch lips to feel the depth of others
to taste the skin of the sweat which lead to others
i dangle in thought from a rope i hold
with legs crossed and a neck far too long
the ground pulses from barren tips
somewhat like the feeling of this
temptation builds to bring forth sin
the taste of more
a taste of you
and the navy blue hue of the
mountains in the distance
which remind me of songs in motions
moments in rotation
in the back of my mind
like spinning wheels
previews of memories which burn
like slow moving moments
twined in the back of–
some things are better left unfinished
words by dominic riccitello
the power
it drips
a melancholy twist
i feel so heavenly
in a place
where
i feel sorrow
Like the ocean, we move. We do not stand still. Every moment is a tide in which we frolic. I stand before time, not to wonder but to wander.
twisting on edges of my tongue
using words you dream of
to touch my back to feel my neck
it feels almost like a second chance
i’m spinning on streets of my mind
wandering to wonder if this is right
i seem to feel at ease
with arms bending in ways i’ve never known
to touch wind, to fill with sin
we seem to like it
there’s no wrong to right or wrong in my mind
it feels as broken as vases against the wall
waves against my mind
the rapids take like alcohol bakes into what i know
your death is what i know
melancholy breaks in hindsight
nostalgia takes to bend clockwise
we dance in thought of what could be
to long for what should have been
relationships fold
bats only fly in the night
two beings under the moonlight
to cry a thousand cries
i die in revelations
to kill or ache with them
your eyes and mine
two and the twilight
we break in moments
relationships have deadlines
we sing in our time
questioning if this is quite benight
we read between the lines
and decide when time is right
yet we felt like this
words by dominic riccitello
i’m lying on ends of night
twisting turns on beds that once felt nice
kissed the hands of many like wet malachite
and i twirl in and out
taking photos with my mind
i’m lying in a coma and it seems all but right
making lefts to take edges
words and rhythm, wealth seems to be nothing
to tango in the thought of everything
it’s so tempting to be on flight
to twirl in power, but feel no emotion
talk in tongues because they can’t feel the feeling of this
to understand what this is
and i take no bliss to bed
feels like a coma, so dark in here
and i bare the thought to speak
rather rhyme in pure poetry
to die like this would be my heaven
to take the feeling of flying
to touch the air would be something
the clock ticks and the corners keep pulling
have you ever fallen asleep in pure hostility?
to break in edges
to break beds
to smash plates at walls
the power to feel it all
yet say nothing
i dance in my emotions
a drug to feel something
hidden sentences in paragraphs
the humming is all but haunting
words said came crashing
yet it was far too long, far too fast
a million miles too stretched
the oceans once spoke
and i listened to everything
to have everything yet nothing
words by dominic riccitello
i waver in question
broken transitions
a wild hesitation
we echo in our moments
longing for something worth living
two seconds and a speak
words, how you believe they have meaning
we frolic in our divided rooms
burning fumes on our desires
the damaged conversations
couch of chaos
two and a beat
words thrown at the ceiling
i die to live in moments
to be broken by division
transcend in echoes worth having
we die in time
everyone does
its up to you to find the beat
it’s up to you to find meaning
to find meaning in your living room
words by dominic riccitello
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
i lie before myself
standing on fine lines and bright lights
how i used to hold myself
we stand at edge right
bouncing from rhyme to rhyme
you were my wine
my late nights, ambien and cries
my ambient light
we bent in thought
i danced without cause
it was all but a was
we take chances in fire
to feel less than holy in our iron
a deadly lighter
man stuck between dividers
hell bent on reflection
we bend to go deeper
twisting bodies to remain that all remains
remnant in cause of
to be one with sanity
vibrations of you
touch of your hand
the alchemy of our horizon
mountains in the distance only remind me
shades of blue
the patchouli, your scent
two necks in a coil
three sheets to the wind
broken wine glasses at roosterfish
we mend in moments
little things said and we reflect
nostalgia sometimes kills
yet i like the pain of remembrance
history of
are our only memories
to be one with or to be without
lips on a forehead
little things are sometimes
everything
roosterfish
words by dominic riccitello
