Early morning. Turning to face you.
First kiss, skin on skin,
to claim holy fire
coiled in mortal intimacy.
I know that one day I will die
to you, you to me, Time bruises softly.
Sense of ephemera
compels me to draw you closer,
to warm my hand on your cheek,
to say something, anything
to make you smile,
to ignite that beacon
in which I bask
silently grateful.
To savor, to cherish.
The hidden vocabulary
of my heart
is reduced to essentials,
its rowing simple and direct.
I love you.
There is no need to invent new words,
new modes of being,
when first kiss, skin on skin,
renews itself
for the sake of Eden’s ageless memory.

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at johnbiscello.blogspot.com. Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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