Peony

This peony is an empty house/ In which each of us recaptures night. —Jean Laroche

In the panting still of night,

a peony, trembling,

fragrant, blushing bright

against the dark matted vines

of memory,

in which lovers, tangled and throbbing,

ground their rapture

into so much favored dust

for peonies to dream upon.

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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3 Responses to Peony

  1. yassy says:

    Awesome metaphors.

    Liked by 1 person

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