Tag Archives: her

Enclosure

Posted on April 15, 2026 by John Biscello

Her body, her body breaking in time, a vivid stutter and scratch, repeated in my mind’s amateur attempts to braid or grasp what amounts to sand in wind— Life, oh life, a series of manic shutters and twitches, threaded to … Continue reading →

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Foam

Posted on July 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Collect her broken bones, her sea-washed cortege, and sentences of charged glimmer, and pay close reverence to where the slow, reedy breath of the pearl steams the shell of its host, and when the time is right, just right, kiss … Continue reading →

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Crush

Posted on June 26, 2018 by John Biscello

There was pillowtalk in her eyes, underscored by her mouth’s bated languour; Sundays curled in her lap with feline ease, slow jazz dreams on holiday, whiskered softly between her thighs and pinkest belly; she wanted nothing to do with volume … Continue reading →

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Riddle

Posted on April 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Did I enter her, or was I the door walked through? Savor the riddle.

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Hale

Posted on October 26, 2017 by John Biscello

Hymn, inside Her, by which lovers pass hale music, and fire, through a needle’s hallowed eye.

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