Tag: art

There are two or three men
desperate for her.
They beg to see, to touch,
to give her things,
the ocean and coastal terrain.

She’d give in if her head and
heart weren’t tied
up in him, trying to teach her
body not to yearn
for a waterless hill, the tidal waste.

Seconds of minutes of hours of days
wrapped up in him
So much connected to him, it now
belongs to him.
The illusions of shooting stars in
his realm.

Tonight she can almost see the
constellation or consolation
depending on her vantage point.
Stubborn in her convictions
She clings to the his crest, illiac
and shimmering peaks

She calls for him through a
whimsical sky.
For a moment she can almost
hear his cadence 
but it’s only the whiskey drenched
moans of two or three
other men answering her through
a solid earth.

Resigned to sleep now. She drowns out their sound
Knowing only in singing dreams is the puff and mist of him found.

-Tosha Michelle

Imagine discovering a box
of old love letters.
At first glance the language
is hard to decipher,
written in the secret code
of lovers.
A past you can barely
recall. The girl
you were long since gone.
You marvel at his
dotted Is and counterstrokes,
knowing now he had
something to hide, that he
left no clues.
But now you know to read the
movement, the pattern
of his hands. You’ll trace
the beauty and betrayal
of young love by
the placement of
the periods, the allusions
and faulty script.
The blueprint of  heartache
and blue  eyes.

-Tosha Michelle