Ode to Grass Stains and Wildberries

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We create our own joy.
Come roll around with me
in the grass til our
clothes are stained.
Til the clouds turn violet.

Let’s eat ice cream under
the stars and hold each other
until the restlessness dissipates.
Tonight let’s not battle the hardwood floors,
the laundry chute, or the dishes.

Let’s defy gravity, monotony,
the drudgery of life.
Throw away the map.
Let’s find another way.
Eat the wild berries.
Live on the breeze.
Amp up the brightness of
the moon.
Who cares if the universe
complains?

Let’s create a language
that fits us, in a land
of pine cones and sage.
Red dress on the ground
where desire stays.

Nouns infused with passion
tongue, earlobes, necks..
Shuttering hands, quivering bodies.
The sentences of ourselves.
Infinitives, unearthing new verbs
and their allure.

Upgrading our love
to a window seat in first
class.

Rethinking how.
Reordering now.

-Tosha Michelle

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Get Over It?

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Things to Get Over.

1. Hurdles, potholes in the road, stumps. The gap, you refuse to mind. The fact that you aren’t British.
2. Relatives you’ve lost to cancer, old age, depression, and alcoholism.
3. Things that ended in nothingness. The fear of being alone. The aggravation of being together.
4. Stupid love affairs the ones that terrified, and the ones that were filled with happiness The ring kept, or pawned, or thrown in his face. The one who got away. The one you wish had gotten away.
5. Childhood memories of storybooks, catching fireflies,; snow days so bright that the whole world was covered in whiteness. Your imaginary friend, named Tom, who never made fun of your coke bottled glasses, and the way you refuse to look at strangers
6. Suburban life, the ethers of banality,
7. Children growing up and the pain of letting go. The stillness of the house. The quiet you chase around every room
8. The cries for help from those you were able to reach and those you weren’t.
9. Dispossessed possessions. Substance. The absence of substance.
10.The unfound. The unfinished.
11. illusions, delusions. Daydreams. Nightmares.
12. All the seconds, minutes, hours, days, the years that pile up, the past always waiting to hear from you
13. Words that rise and fall. Transparent, sometimes luminous but that will vanish in the end.
14. The crushing reality that not everyone will like your remedy
15. Wasted time. Good intentions that grow tired.

These are a few of the things to get over. However, do we ever really get over things, or do we just learn to go around them?

Perhaps, we should savor the
things to get over. Praise what was. Our past, always there to confess. Bow to
it like a priest. Recall the shifting seasons, hoard the heart’s thorns, what hurts us can also nurture us. Just remember, the past can never be altered. Don’t stumble on your way around it. Listen for the footsteps of the future. Be ready to take its hand when it calls for you.

What good is life if we don’t use it up? Bite hard into the things to get over. It doesn’t matter if you break the skin.. Relish the pain, and then come back to today, to life, and ardently pursue the elixir, living.

-Tosha Michelle

Played Out.

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Sometimes all love is,
is weary longing.
Desire that has
worn itself out.
The shuddering of
misfired neurons.
Journeying on the open road
like a rock band
on the last few cities
of their tour.
I remember when I first saw you,
sitting at the coffee shop,
eyes intent on the book
in front of you.
I still see your hands and
the way you held
the novel, and hunger.
Your body like some great map
I wanted to unfold and explore.
And language, this strange
speech that we spoke
in a tongue native
to just the two of us.
Each day, we dreamed a little
more, but its too late now
in this story of a wakefulness.
We came from wine, faltering,
the clutter of bombastic brains,
the tumbleweed of dust on the floor.
We left simmering ash.

-Tosha Michelle

Liquid Nights


Liquid nights where they arranged
to meet and got drunk on wine
that made her blush and him
wonder.

She wanted to be seduced
He wanted to play master.

Those were the years they fell
in love, and bodies and tongues
touched, and they neglected
the garden and the blossoming
truth.

Now they sit by roses, but with
a different view. no longer under
the spell of Keats or moonlit
paths to sweet oblivion.

Now she only imagine his
burnt branding touch.
And he only remembers her
sting. the pull of disaster
desired, then spent.

-Tosha Michelle

Choice

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His shirt is devoid of him.
My dress is much too
pretty to put on.
This day is an easy
choice. Tomorrow,
might not be.

The flames fan to
a jar of splinters
we chopped the
night before. The
fire takes what is
giving freely (without
thought)

I choose to take the
heat in his eyes. I step
out of the shower.
and notices the sexy
message he left
for me on the mirror,
Now the glass is
less full of clean
me.

We make our decisions
We become our choices
We become pleasure
We become pain.

Life with all it’s options.
Roads to choose.
Do we drift or stay
on course? Turn
forward? Turn back?

We make love and tea.
Pillows spill from the bed.
We roll around on the floor
wallowing in soot.
A mop is the only response

Dawn slivers through the
window and across our
bare skin.. The sun winks
at us through a wave of
white. The sky, tall and
blue, curtsies. Taunting
us through the window
pane. The sky and sun
knowing (of course) that
they are an easy choice.

-Tosha Michelle

And The Truth Spills Out.

imageFrom the archives. Happy Saturday. Have a wonderful weekend.

Let’s imagine that
you love me,
and no light can dim,
no faucet can leak,
and no one can take
you away from me.

Let’s imagine you love my risotto
and seared salmon,
and that you drink the wine,
the Scotch, and the tea.
Your eyes constantly on me.

Let’s imagine I’m what you imagine,
and I can cook risotto and seared salmon,
and never let your glass run dry.
All with my eyes on you.

Let’s imagine we had chemistry to spare,
that we are all warm mouths, and entwined limbs.
The eyes of the sun and the mountains.

Let’s imagine we weren’t the long read,
that took moments to unread.
The storm cloud that spilled
from our shattered wine glasses.
The headlights that flickered out.
The seared salmon that went cold,
the burnt risotto in the pot,
the empty glass in the leaky sink.

Now let’s focus on one true thing.
Your lying mouth and treacherous kisses.
The way you hurt me. Your eyes always
on the next best thing.

-Tosha Michelle

Departure

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I saw you in the morning
rain.
from the window of my
apartment,
running to catch the train
You were wearing your
famous blue shirt, which
is really more green.
You smiled at the
pretty brunette to
your left. Distracted
by her beauty,
you almost tripped
boarding the train.
You were headed to
work. Your man purse
slung over your
shoulder,
Your hair slightly
disheveled,
in that sexy
way that your hair
does.
It reminded me
of my heart
always slightly a wreck,
and in disray over you.
As I was daydreaming
your train pulled away.
Then there was just
the hazy, gray sheen
of the morning, like
unpolished sliver and
the steep buildings
that blended into the
dullness of the sky.

It was you, and the
disappearing train
which shaped the
scene.
Departure and
arrival.
The journey and
the destination..
It is here
our narrative
fades.
Leaving the narrator
behind with a memory
that lingers and loves
without reason.
Tosha Michelle