Tag Archives: passion

Knead

Posted on April 10, 2018 by John Biscello

From hips to belly, the distance between longing and bare knead, swelling.

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Prelude

Posted on April 10, 2018 by John Biscello

Small, slow kiss, followed by lips mowing soft petals– How to eat a rose.

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Sylvia Plath

Posted on April 4, 2018 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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Savor

Posted on March 29, 2018 by John Biscello

It is that mouth, pursed, sentencing savor to burn, to kiss, between lines.

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Jean Rhys

Posted on March 19, 2018 by John Biscello

Large cats stalk authors, same as authors prey to fast– Hunger, in plain sight.

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Beginning Now

Posted on March 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Craft. Tactile homage, and respect to craft, its inviolable depths and integrity, to approach craft as you would a fertile god, to practice, radically, at its altar, to consecrate with marked intent, and to know in your heart’s heart that … Continue reading →

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Not Nietzche

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

If you gaze long enough into a lighted window at night, eventually the lighted window goes dark. (i.e., Common Sense for Uncommonly Complicated Philosophers Who Hang out at Starbucks and Read Immanuel Kant While Hoping That the Nerdy-Cute Barista Finally … Continue reading →

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Sublime

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

The mouth, birthing a migrant kiss, begs gravity’s pardon in raising lips to a sublime arc.

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Indelible

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

To ebb, the startling clarity of a stolen kiss sentenced to null and ghost, to lips indelibly parted then closed.

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Enclosure

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes, it is just a marginal thatch of shadow slivering a cheek, or the rounded vowel of dimple puckering brazenly a bare knee, or the laser surgery performed on my small, fearful history, by a stray, smoldering gaze, it could … Continue reading →

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