Tag Archives: Winter

Julie

Posted on June 13, 2016 by John Biscello

I. Eyes. When I called them winterblue, you said, oh really, the O a fat bright balloon twisted into a curious animal. Really, I insisted, and explained how, when written, I’d compound winter and blue, words holding hands to get … Continue reading →

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Winter, A Love Story

Posted on April 19, 2016 by John Biscello

Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands  that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading →

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