Tag Archives: Desire

Shackles

Posted on September 13, 2026 by John Biscello

In the waxing syntax of throb, pooling to unseemly levels, making beggars of desire’s taste for excess, we run on and on, sentenced to the gravity of a moon going down in honeyed rivet on a sea’s lush and glistening … Continue reading →

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Classified Section

Posted on September 6, 2026 by John Biscello

In this season of longing, the pluralized itch and wraith of you and I, coursing parallel tracks to cross imaginary lines where distance mounts the spreading horizon.

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Equatorial

Posted on May 20, 2026 by John Biscello

Find me, she urged, in a bird-broken sky, in mottled swills of ink darkening my want— Find me, wherever I am not, the explicit spreading of distance to tease and captivate Memory’s cosplay in a subtextual plot.

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Freight Blues

Posted on May 18, 2026 by John Biscello

In the bluest breath of want, pooling to unseemly levels, making beggars of desire’s taste for excess, we run on and on, riveted to freight and laboring conundrum.

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As if Ghosts

Posted on May 16, 2026 by John Biscello

She, as in ghosts, as in white-hot incubi with a seductive glassy not there stare, it bewitches and allures, bears melancholy freighted with scraped knees and mirror shards. There is a lucid unblinking poise, calculated reserve composed of crystal and … Continue reading →

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Loom

Posted on May 15, 2026 by John Biscello

In the manic solitude of invention and bloom, I shutter to think, therefore I scam, hustling room for one’s own company to keep you, casting, in fuckable thrall.

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Compass

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

It could be called Variations on Love, how we find each other again and again, in different modes and phases, nearness teased out of growth’s grinning desire to story and multiply, to bring lives into exquisite sync and pulse— This, … Continue reading →

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Hymn

Posted on April 14, 2026 by John Biscello

In her body, her body, repeatable as scorch and given grail, I come blindly into words, so many words, a stunning slate of Braille and seductive run-on— my fingers, dodo in their impossible flights, stutter and fail to reach the … Continue reading →

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Torch Song

Posted on December 12, 2025 by John Biscello

   She is there. She is always there, in the corridor. And she is lonely. This much I know. Lonely as a form of cold that you cannot cover with blankets or insulate against with coats and scarves and such. … Continue reading →

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Horizon

Posted on December 2, 2025 by John Biscello

Longing’s end goal is itself, though it will never admit that. To admit that would strip Longing of its impetus and bait, would render it flatfooted in its futile race against time. Longing is habitually wired to attach its fevers … Continue reading →

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