i drown
between the cracks of our love
dying in truth to extend
through a moment stuck in time
and i find your eyes
caressing my spine
with words upon your lips
texture of our bodies
against each other
and we twirl to transcend
to places of non-existence
like meadows in our eve
sorrow in our spring
and break bones
to touch the pain
i once held in hands
a grip so soft
but a dance so triggering
two against one
hands against thumbs
gripping a body
feeling you heavenly
hugging you tightly
but without letting go
a rapid with force
brings torture
like hands used to
and it sounds of passion
but a mask delivers
as it’s supposed to
secrets hold value
like our pasts

horror in our past

words by dominic riccitello

i fall asleep
with you by my door
tossing and turning
feigning for more
than our dreams to be
nostalgic by time
darkened meanings
i close my eyes
to see you in night
hovering beside
and i talk to feel
with emotion than touch
vivid motions break by core
and we’re standing in beds
expecting more
than what we’re given in time 
and i ask you to speak
to converse over this
we’re swaying in time
before oceans could tide
rapids would pull
and sense makes nothing
until it does to you
which is why i explain
in rhyme for you
the reasons this could
but time made it couldn’t
our past remembers
life sweeter than
it was


twisting you beneath
my time in night
i shake you
to please you
we sway
from rhyme to rhyme
breaking rules
bending you right
and i feel
to touch you internally
breaking on blue tides
in my mind to caress you
yet we’re wallowing in disrespect
fueling toxic for this to make sense
i rake your leaves to leave you loveless
you tango through our vicinity
leaving us both heartless
and i die in you
to feel nostalgia for a few
seconds in remembrance
times in moments
our emotions before foreign

to touch internally

words by dominic riccitello

two in the morning
thoughts of glass
broken in thought
by you in my head
of past romance
and wobbling knees
terror in defeat
of you beneath my sheets
envisioning us
in depth
between cracks of pages
i never made sense
of how we left
open pages on shelves
and love in garbage cans

synonyms: trash, rubbish, refuse, waste, detritus, litter, junk, scrap

words by dominic riccitello
Where does your inspiration for writing come from? How do you re-inspire yourself when inspiration is what you are lacking?

My inspiration comes from little things. I look at conversations, the way people grasp, reflections of their clothing and personality. You can write about anything and create metaphors from it.

When lacking, I usually write for 15 seconds without thinking and seeing if it makes sense and then making sense of it.