Tag Archives: lust

Waves

Posted on October 14, 2021 by John Biscello

At the faltering edge, where possibility meets a stolen glance, and guilt whispers discreetly to us the manner in which we must transgress, we traded breath for flame, and burned through every last vestige of decency, beneath our bodies shameless … Continue reading →

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There Was a Time

Posted on October 14, 2021 by John Biscello

Coiled within the echo and ceremony of longing, I tremble between memory’s flitting tease of my belly and hers, how they almost touched, erring a slow burn course by which the word made flesh could stalk itself, from a favored … Continue reading →

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Historyless Touch

Posted on December 30, 2018 by John Biscello

Touch me where I am not, where the fade meets the form, where the furtive scent of glisten perfumes its own root cause and fable, give to me the dirty dinghied secrets of the center, the storied core, which, in … Continue reading →

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Breeze

Posted on July 7, 2018 by John Biscello

More erotic dreams about the girl from the sea– Longing, rimmed with salt

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The Fourth, or, The Great Big Bang

Posted on June 27, 2018 by John Biscello

She wanted to celebrate the Fourth. She put on her Stars and Stripes panties. Packed her toy gun, the one with the BANG flag that unfurled, into her babyblue purse with silver sequins. After waggling her hips to emphasize the … 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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Likeness

Posted on June 18, 2018 by John Biscello

slow beating ache keeping time to breaking lore and softcore myth rising to tease and strip heaven’s knee of its skin my god yes spit and blood and light and yes remixed to teach you and me what angels be … Continue reading →

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Wordburn

Posted on June 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Between the call of bodies, testing the ream of vocabulary’s limits, words exact their talent for slow burn, and quicken to replenish.

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Plume

Posted on June 14, 2018 by John Biscello

Your specific brood, and row of white noise, coupled with blood running its own goverment like a harem spooning an undertow, it is there, I loiter, taking notes through the ribbed plume of my softest tongue.

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Piracy

Posted on June 11, 2018 by John Biscello

To dig nails into the ciphered history of her skin, unmapped, to take a pirate’s tack in plundering the source of her sap and scent, flagged on the bare teeth of wolves wind.  

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