Tag Archives: romance

Meeting D.J.

Posted on March 28, 2018 by John Biscello

(Excerpt from Raking the Dust) I see you decided to join me. I didn’t want you to drink alone. We sat at an empty table flanking the wall. The band was now playing a mournful ballad.  Something about two lovers … Continue reading →

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Train

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

I understand, you let the wrong one in again– doors close, doors open.   (Artwork by Nigel Van Wieck)

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Beach

Posted on March 11, 2018 by John Biscello

Life, give us a break, Love, the loafer’s paradise, childlike in its reign.   (Photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson)

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Quartet

Posted on March 6, 2018 by John Biscello

On this side of the mirror, it begins with a light, courtesy kindling promise, yet on the other side, the smoke is already mood-thick and rising, suggesting second lives engaged in the slow burn of mutual arson.   (Photo by … 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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Bench

Posted on March 1, 2018 by John Biscello

You know the story, the bench, the promise, the waiting, the interminable stretch of waiting, and the love that never returned, as the girl became a woman and then dead. You know the legend, how the woman is still waiting, … 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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Bonepick

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

I tell myself stories in the dark, Anya. Whether or not they help is either of primary consequence or none at all. Sometimes you have to walk through the boneyard in order to reach the garden. This what I tell … Continue reading →

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Gist

Posted on February 23, 2018 by John Biscello

The manic blush and titter of young love is no serum nor mirage, but rather the gist of bloom martyred so soon to thorns.

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