The Pillow Who Loved Me

Published on by Tosha Michelle69 Comments

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Every night her bed spoke to her, but her pillow had no use
for language. It was too busy being soft and comfortable.
Its natural state, one of rest. She was clueless to its
aversions and desires, but suspected it feared dust mites,
daylight, and the sound of the alarm clock. The bed loved to
share all its secrets of sleepy heads, and banging heads, and
unmentionable head. The pillow refused to participate in such
tomfoolery. Its downtime was spent inside a silk cul-de-sac
so quiet even darkness was suspicious.

If the pillow had any hobbies, they were wordless, soundless. Oh how she hoped darkness was on to something, and that the pillow secretly carried on a 007 life of adventure; Something sinful and dangerous, wild and ridiculous. A secret life of motion, martinis, fast cars, exotic locations. A place where pillow was always in its prime and at its fluffiest. A place where, when asked its name, you could hear it say, in true debonair fashion, Bond, Pillow Bond.

-Tosha Michelle

How My Mind Works

Published on by Tosha Michelle51 Comments

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Today I don’t love you.
No. I don’t think I do.
Although I was sure
once I never loved you
before.

But now that I don’t love
you. I’m sure I did
love you once before.
Yes, I most definitely
loved you before.

And if tomorrow, I no
longer love you, then
today perhaps I do
love you, like I loved
you once before.

-Tosha Michelle

Underground

Published on by Tosha Michelle75 Comments

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He gives me a love story
for the underworld.

A tale with holes in the
pockets, and cracked mirrors

Serenades me with songs that
could kill spiders in frequency.

Revealing ardor distilled.
Solid? Vapor?

He forges a bridge,
spins me around.

I find breath in the
centripetal force.

We’re always lost somewhere
between either and neither,
between criss and cross

He jumps.
I fall.

Eyes closed,
following in his wake.

He makes a path
for me into
desirable delectable
or delectable destruction.

I sink, under and under,
inside a paradox.

I become the dark residue of
the earth on a moonless night,
where the sky doesn’t exist.

And still I don’t think
I’m there yet.

I’m still holding stones
between my teeth

Grasping for the promise of-
something sinful, after-

-Tosha Michelle

Only One

Published on by Tosha Michelle94 Comments

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She only wants to bare her body
to one man, only one to know her bones,
the sighs of her mouth, of her heart,
the naked parts of her soul.

Only one man to strip down her voice,
to breathe back her breath,
only one to know the wilderness of her desire,
to know only one man calls out to her in his dreams,
speaking her name as if it were pagan as if
it were a psalm.

She wants uncompromising totality, the near impossible breath
from water, fire, bare, possession unclothed, belonging to one man,
his being inside of her, the only one she wants
to want. His bones. Her bones. Belonging.

She wants one man, only one, to undress his soul for her only.
Knowing that it won’t always be easy
some nights his heart might ache
for the touch of new bones, the unknown breath,
the unclothed breath of someone less difficult,
but she will honor that ache and sooth it with her sweetness,
breath after loving breath, speaking to her one man,
her only.

-Tosha Michelle

Photo courtesy of lostkat

Seasoning the Seasons

Published on by Tosha Michelle61 Comments

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Remember youth, eating pizza at 3 a.m. and wearing t-shirts that declared anarchy? Remember the blind faith in yourself and the world? Looking back, I want that innocence. I want more of the sun, the garden, the high notes. I want time to stay green. Maybe if I pretend I can’t see it. I’ll be the ship sailing on an ocean of oblivion, not yet knowing I’m at the horizon’s mercy.

Is it really about time, though, or my desire for time? Do I want to spend my life avoiding the clock’s vibrations?

Come rest by me, take my hand and we’ll watch day stumble into evening. As I look into your soulful eyes. I think perhaps, I don’t want to be young again. Maybe it’s better if we invite every tragedy, and wisdom learned to sit here beside us. I want maturity rolling on our tongues when our mouths mate. I want the years naked between us, drinking from our wine.

Maybe, as we rest here in the stillness of twilight, the sky will open for us, showering us with petals and what we don’t want to see will seem softer, tender. And we’ll welcome whatever comes next with our t-shirts of wisdom, knowing there are still horizons yet to unfold.

-Tosha Michelle

Then Sings My Soul

Published on by Tosha Michelle68 Comments

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I once sang of faith
with unwavering clarity.
Certainty in every note.
The wild berry of a purple heart,
noble and true until hope unlatched,
fear reaching it’s breaking point.

How quickly the fruit
turnned bitter on my tongue.
Now I struggle to hold on
to the melody,
whispering my song
through broken lungs.

-Tosha Michelle

Bedtime Benediction

Published on by Tosha Michelle79 Comments

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Come to bed.

We’ll nestle like a pair of saucers.

Let me press my breasts

into your back,

my hand over your heart,

Even when I can’t sleep

it’s a comfort to feel

your breaths,

to take notice of

the strength of your body

There’s a lullaby in the way

your skin unfurls.

My lips drift across

your shoulder

in three quarter time.

Every second edible

in its sereneness.

This mouthy soulful love

and a kiss for the infinite

I snuggle closer and whisper

a bedtime prayer of praise

for life and the small reasons.

-Tosha Michelle

Human- The Name of Her Being

Published on by Tosha Michelle109 Comments

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Imagine the soulless trafficker
holding a young girl’s life in his hands.

Imagine the young girl in front of him,
eyes glazed from the heroin
he’s forced her to inject.

The unturned years stolen.

Her body’s lexicon
the clamor of sharks to blood,
the swarm of hornets.

Raped. Beaten. Used up.
Innocent debased.

He’s taken it all.
Leaving burnt trunk and a once
flourishing root decimated.

Imagine sprayed bullets,
sparkling on the
grimy warehouse floor.

Imagine the now bulging
eyes of the child, the girl
who doesn’t stop being dead.

The tragic wreckage of greed
splayed on the ground.

Let her gone dreams haunt you.
Don’t allow her to become
an apathetic byte on the news,
incapable of ruining your family’s dinner.

For a moment at least,
be conscious, not comfortable.

Allow her to bare her teeth
and demand that you see her loss.

This child, born into a world
she couldn’t overcome.

Let her eyes be a memory,
that the universe
isn’t always civilized
or wash and wear

Let her blood spill on everything,
the table cloth, the fine china,
the prettily pressed clothes.

See her. Feel her pain.
Let her shadow be your shadow.
If only for a moment, look back.

Hear her whispering her name.
Let her name be your name.
Human. The name of her being.
The name of your being.

-Tosha Michelle

All American Girl

Published on by Tosha Michelle120 Comments

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I wish I could look through fog,
live the serene life
be content to catch
the sun I can.

I, who’ve been pressed
and molded into
some American dream,
feel more confined
than liberated.

The back story- I’m more
a wanderer than a watcher
More enticed by the exotic
than familiar. I confess.
I’m unsettled.

Today’s wind tugs at me.
The sky urges me to fly.
My mouth hungry for the nectar
of fallen fruit

Inside my heart, an escape plan.
Outside my body glued
to habit and structure.

Rebellion turns my head.
It clings to me like mist.

Briefly, my ribs expand and
I flutter before reality
pulls me back.
Heaving then settling.
Leaving me with
the sticky aftereffects
and in that interlude,
I know my soul would soar
if my mind would only
let it.

-Tosha Michelle

My cover of “Underneath” by Adam Lambert. This song has so much meaning for me. (Dedicated to Heather, Niles, Jane, Terry, Larry, Jennifer,Ian, Diane and all my lovely friends. Thanks for putting up with me.