Tag Archives: sex

That Thing With Feathers

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello

   As she moved her bladed hips beneath him, small dark starshaped birds tore out of her hips, scissoring the air, and were then immediately sucked back into her hips, as if by an invisible vacuum.    He stopped, and … Continue reading →

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Feathers

Posted on September 16, 2025 by John Biscello

As she moved her bladed hips beneath him, small dark starshaped birds tore out of her hips, nipping at the air, and were then immediately sucked back into her hips, as if by an invisible vacuum. He stopped, and asked—What … Continue reading →

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Hips Don’t Lie

Posted on September 16, 2025 by John Biscello

The hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants, and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading →

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of sound mind and body

Posted on October 9, 2022 by John Biscello

bones grinding on. bones grinding. light on light. light on bone on light grinding. give us this day our daily savvy. this how our bodies shape music. make music. no names attached. mapless and hungry and eligible for fractures. bones … Continue reading →

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Cherry and Claudia

Posted on August 11, 2022 by John Biscello

She asked me to touch her. Down there. It’s been so long, she said. I feel like a coffin. Just use your fingers. I was reluctant. When she said—It’s just your hand, it’s not you—I thought—It’s just my hand, not … Continue reading →

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Stop Motion

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello

She stood on the podium, beaming, and began waving to everyone in slow motion. Her hand glided right to left, left to right, a panoramic benediction that didn’t miss a single soul. The bouquet tucked near her bosom exuded a … Continue reading →

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Patriot Acts, or,The Coming of Democracy

Posted on June 26, 2018 by John Biscello

She was a liberal, except when she went down on me, or I on her, and everything was politics-free and equal between united fronts and sexes.

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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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She

Posted on May 18, 2018 by John Biscello

She, the wrinkled pool of lusty glaze and somatic charge, of aural bouquets teasing cherry-bled sound and fragrance from whetted lips, fasting to shape a comely beckon, moon-fed by dark.

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