Tag Archives: love

The Source

Posted on May 11, 2018 by John Biscello

Their hearts, registered as infinite beacons, have gone gently and luminously into nights not so good and pitch-black, braving flytrap folds and god-awful rows to soothe, mend and restore the bruised vitals of daughters and sons; they go, infused with … Continue reading →

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Dare

Posted on May 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Shelling, till hips grafted a wild rush of air, bone rubbing against empty, this flint, improvising a dare.    

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Word/Less

Posted on May 9, 2018 by John Biscello

Where words fail, empty husks grifting air to blush, my tongue found the clefted hollow between her neck and shoulder, warm run of shivers, novel to the slip and touch.  

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Holy

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Unbridled, the holy seethe, touching upon lips, to reinvent the kiss as barest gospel.

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Bliss

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

To follow your bliss you must kiss your demons squarely on their mouths lancing their sealed lips with a flaming tongue perpetrating tango between worlds where love consumes every last thorny bit.

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Treaty

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

The warring, within, ended. No one won. White flags, adorning the masts of souls, became the rage and pacific vogue. Ghosts kissed demons, demons kissed children, children blew kisses into the air, christening echoes. I woke up, sudden to my … Continue reading →

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Hide

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

I am guilty of having poured too many words on top, too many phrases turned to silver coins massaged into the gaping eternity of palms, I have done my best to imitate the rain, and have failed, but how fucking … Continue reading →

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Brink

Posted on May 8, 2018 by John Biscello

Her hips, bladed just so, moved sharply in sync to the slothful slake of honey, slowpoured to christen the edge and brink of longing. Lazy Sundays between her thighs were my favorite holidays away from me in the nearest heaven … Continue reading →

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Tryst

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

The last time I fornicated with an angel my porchlights blew and we became tranluscent sheets of merger rising above a glassy pool of chartreuse reflecting in cursive the lighted gist of our holy remains. God, I’m open to another … Continue reading →

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Sweetheart

Posted on May 6, 2018 by John Biscello

At the heart of the matter, this, become your own valentine, again and again, and sculpt a blessedly illicit affair, in perpetual fount and bask.

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