Fallen


It began when I transcribed
the temporal glint in his eyes
as light. Content with my
my own imaginings.

Quuck to accept my own deceit.
Hungry for a time only for desire
sliced in two.

I failed to noticed when he didn’t
take the knife
And how the sky dimmed as it gave
into longing.

The bruised fruit pulled from the branch
left to adorn the grave.
Now I collect the seeds that
remain in a mason jar

My heart painted blue.
My hands stained from
the pickings.

-Tosha Michelle

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The Chill Factor

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I just want a corner to lie
down in.

Pull the covers over
my heart.

Let it get buried in
snow.

Somewhere underground
where the coordinates get lost

A hideout from worry and the
slow burn out of life.

My calendar whited out.
My fingers too cold to hold.
My lips too raw to kiss the end note.

And I can live in the moment
before.

A frozen vessel alone
in the stillness.

My soul encased in a thousand
miles of Arctic air.

-Tosha Michelle

Sugar


Sometimes all I can think
about is chocolate cake.
Sugar seeping into my
parietal lobe.

I run my fingers through
your blonde hair, stroke your
teeth with my tongue.

We move like batter
Clinging to each other
Stumbling around the
kitchen.
Desire in an embrace

You flutter to my
fingers, and I beg
you to give away
the recipe.

Knowing how this girl
butters to Southern charm
and blue eyes and measures
her life in spilled
flour on the floor.

Going under in a
flood of batter.
Gluttony in a three
piece suit.

I dream in dark
decadence and open
my mouth and heart
to confectionary splendor.

Happy to get lost in
frosting, strong arms
hard kisses, and oven
baked seduction.

-Tosha Michelle

Derailed


In a universe where the train of
knowledge is slowly coming derailed
And the footnotes of historical understanding are being written in Morose Code
where SOS looks more like SOOL
And the landscape is being erased
with swooping disregard.
Is there still hope justified?
Does humanity deserve revisions?
Hasn’t the plot been rewritten a
thousand times?
Maybe the story’s moral is
keep weaving until reason is found
Disappointed love is still love.
And a pen beating against a desk
can still be struck by the wind

-Tosha Michelle

Footnote

In another life
I might look back
In this same life
I must move forward
Walking over the chalk
outline of what used to
be beloved
Turned to dead on feelings
windblown and forgotten
Lying there in a monochrome
field with strokes unmade
by a careful hand.

No time to listen to
ghostly voices that lingers.
No time to converse
with a displaced soul
who spoke only in
in affection that lies
and the next best thing.

Now is the time to listen
to the pitch of the future
as it plays by ear.
The sweet bitter melody
of the disenchanted.
and heart sick.
Lyrics written in a book
of blue to be left behind
as we journey into
a strange new city.
riding on the backs
of clouds hung low
Minds crystal even
though our faith
has been tried and convicted.
Breathless and alert
Hope, the call note
beckons

-Tosha Michelle

Love

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She tries it on,
like a dress
She twirls
in the mirror.

It’s beautiful and
compliments her form.
Gloved fit
She knows this is the one

She can’t wait to take
it home, but then
she notices the hem
unraveling.

And how restrictive
it is around the chest.

The way the color
seems to mock her cool tones.

She sighs.
So much for
the right fit.

She rips it off.
Her skin comes too.

-Tosha Michelle

Baby, I’m sorry. (I’m not sorry)

Jamming out with cookie monster. Happy Saturday

Baby, fineness is the way to kill
Tell me how it feel, bet it’s such a bitter pill
And yeah, I know you thought you had bigger, better things
Bet right now this stings (wait a minute)
‘Cause the grass is greener under me
Bright as technicolor, I can tell that you can see
And yeah, I know how bad it must hurt to see me like this
But it gets worse (wait a minute)