Dominic Riccitello
Jul 4, 2015

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tips of your fingers the nimble hand upon your chest heart below my hand i loved his handles, the hallway conversation how we held without thoughts lusted our lobes drove upon closed roads we melted our love swam for all we could searched a sea of only the lone of our words hurt which would swoon we worked in rays lied in daze where nothing meant everything and everything meant nothing from first