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
