John Biscello

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.