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