She ‘s Beatrice and Delilah.
an illusion, a crime
She’s a skyscape that slips
from blue, to grey, to red.
She’s a spider web over
a bank vault.
She’s the pull swirling
in his chest.
She’s a whisper of longing
stuck in his ear.
She’s a wilder life, the sweet
seed, his heart’s core.
She’s a sigh, ragged and
melancholy.
She’s a crushing need
a helix of yearning.
She’s chemistry and anatomy.
She’s the witching hour’s
pleasures of bourbon and sin.
She’s soaked in summer,
spun in contradictions.
She’s a flame grabbing what
it wants, a tumultuous embrace.
She’s a thousand lips bruising
his skin.
She’s a back arching, guttural
moan.
She’s rhythm and release.
She’s as intrusive as a power
outage
She’s as frustrating as a
misstep.
She’s as elusive as spindrift
night.
She’s a woman set in his type,
born in ink, language spilling out.
She’s what he conjugates.
The artistry of his craft
-Tosha Michelle
Everything I Never Told You 