Desire: written.

Published on by Tosha Michelle

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When he speaks in my dreams
I am allowed to look at him

Somehow our clothes
are always off.

I let his perfect form
slide all over me.

His lyrical sound
is loud in my head.

How my mind wanders
and sparks.

The thoughts reaching out.

I try to still my hands,
but his skin is a tempting idea.

The open mouth kiss
of illicit toxins, sensual sin.

The more I try to latch on
the less real he feels.

The space between his face
and mine only grows longer.

I awake in my bed, the good girl,
still feeling the lingering wind
blowing in from the bad girl North.

How it likes to torment and tease
tameable me, untameable in dreams.

-Tosha Michelle

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