Tag Archives: John Biscello

Neverending

An epic fable, resounded by the wind’s score– Stories, sown from lore.

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Elements in the Making

Lone tree on the hill, has nothing to say to sky– Praise, moved to silence.

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His and Hers

I saw us, my love, long after we were gone– Ghosts of lives, well-worn.

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Here’s Looking at Us

Is this not the art and trick to being human, and in love? A matter of perspective, a rooted widening, wherein distances harbor the marvels of intimacy in rapt enclosure?

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Her

She, the mystery, to whom I turn toward, falling, with light in my eyes.

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Corner Shot

The word on the street kept him waiting for a dame made of ink-wet dreams.

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Coquetry

The sea’s salt-fringed skirt glistens, while flashing rare pearls- Shoreline pants, waiting.    

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What Lasts

Renewal, in nuptial surges and capered bibs of froth; the stones, studded to shore, ennoble the silence of their music to the fondling sea, mates playing freely on the wild fadeless cusp of here and forevermore.

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Hypnotherapy

The most curious eye, voracious in its wandering, seals volumes of air for Imagination to digest and respire in.

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Transients

She was a matter of falling, and scaling the air, and I, street to her clouds, abandoned myself to growing realer and realer in vivid contrast to her sofly fading out and in.

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