Category Archives: Uncategorized

Pink Stucco

Posted on July 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell her we need three days, alone, uninterrupted, in a pink stucco motel. She giggles. Why pink stucco? I don’t know, pink stucco is what I see. It’s you and me and the motel with the pink stucco exterior … Continue reading →

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Orchids and Algae

Posted on July 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Meet me in that rarest orchid crawlspace, that parting cloister, where we could fuck the fiction out of one another, and leave behind a glissando of puddles in real-time.

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Darwin Didn’t Do This

Posted on July 23, 2018 by John Biscello

In the name of indigenous graphing, I, delegating tongue for the task at hand, would like to explore, catalog and classify every species of scent and taste flavoring her body, not overlooking a single derelict fraction, or remote hint blushing … Continue reading →

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Bewitchment

Posted on July 23, 2018 by John Biscello

She exceled through the spread of rumpled longing, her eyes, vimming crushed flecks and chocolate sprinkles of sorcery, she bewitched, darling to the pretty mouth that spoke sudden violets, stilled in wilding fire and perish.  

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Runoff, or, Here There Be Tigers

Posted on July 22, 2018 by John Biscello

My desire, running the length of corridors, unwitnessed, untouched, smoldering in resident ancient bake– Here there be tigers, clawing at the sun’s scorching midriff, gutting the fame from light, until there is no longer any difference between molten blood and … Continue reading →

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Un-Cover-Girl

Posted on July 22, 2018 by John Biscello

It was the length of her longing, the startling pinkness and volume of its expenditure, that lent the moon its covetous curves and fringes, to be uncovered.  

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Dive Bar

Posted on July 22, 2018 by John Biscello

To have and to hold and to let go, repeatedly, breathing lessons for skin divers in mortal dread of sea changes.

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Dreamlife for the Living

Posted on July 22, 2018 by John Biscello

It is really just one long dream interrupted in thorny intervals by fictions that we mistake for realities, the single white feather floating like a tangible sliver of breath on the river’s cyclical surface tells you all you need to … Continue reading →

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Haikuless

Posted on July 21, 2018 by John Biscello

Moondrip down her thighs– No haikus can cover this mystical turn-on.

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