Tag Archives: passion

Sunstroke

Posted on May 26, 2018 by John Biscello

There’s something about a girl baring flagrant cherish in the sunniest regions of hell that raises Eden to a four letter five alarm siege on skin and other vital parts prey to melting.  

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I Listen

Posted on May 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Dawn. The sea breeze, salt-fringed, rolls in through the opened glass doors, its damp fingers sifting and touching upon the cravings, rent and folds of our shared bare skin, It’s like home, you say, and this makes me dig my … Continue reading →

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Set Course

Posted on May 23, 2018 by John Biscello

The love I don’t get to live with her, I am going to have to live and attend, sublimely, through fiction, there are only so many lives to choose from, to assume gracefully, so many courses upon which the sun … Continue reading →

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Requite

Posted on May 23, 2018 by John Biscello

Real lovers, brave ones, requite to the nth degree, nestled snugly in a hollow shaped to fit their bodies, they assume joint custody of Beauty as they fully twine and engage.

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Gloam

Posted on May 22, 2018 by John Biscello

Fretted, to beckon gloam, and slant felt shadows, I cannot hold what was never mine to grasp.

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Communion

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

She knows who she is, the one who placed a piece of the moon under my tongue when I wasn’t looking, now, when I speak of night, light follows, to gild my bated communion.

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Sate

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

It was there, right there, between the sated tensions of sensual crumple and pulp, that the softest paring left desire’s wending veins exposed.

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Veil

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

So this is the mouth which has given lather and freight to scabbed pearls, this, the passage, where screaming daisies have weeded out spells of violence to sunder Beauty’s veil.  

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Mend

Posted on May 14, 2018 by John Biscello

To possess, in eyes leveling a raised smolder, here, there are no rules or fences, only a blatant running of stitches to the sun’s sheerest mend.

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Note to Self

Posted on May 13, 2018 by John Biscello

Words, the right ones, ripe and engorged, outgrow the necessary dark inside you and, abiding the laws of catch and release, demand light, air, voice. Beware atrophy, the root killer, and do not leave language, ingrown, unattended.

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