Tag: style

Inside her pocket
she keeps letters
she’ll never send,
and long lists.

She sits at the vanity,
brushing serenity out
of her golden hair.

Listening to lost rain
that’s surly meant to fall
anywhere but here.

Somewhere already green
and lush.

Her mind grieving winter brown

It’s February.

If she mailed her letters
and shared her lists,
who would read them?

She asked for a cup
of tears
The liquid burns
her tongue.

She listens for the
soft cadence of his voice.

Her heart repeats its inquiry.

Memories and reality
undefined.

-Tosha Michelle

I miss childhood,
when I could climb trees,
unencumbered by branches.
The delicate days new born,
when hope came in dancing in
from the backyard and stayed
for Sunday dinner.
Endlessly long days that
always seem to fade into
sunsets and deliriously delectable
dreams of dandelions and
determined alliteration.
There, nights were made
of lightening and a well lit horizon-
the symphony neverending.

Now life has uprooted that sense
of joy, of ignition.
These days I’m just sound
slighted, the residue
of the morning mist,
burnt out on the melody.
Longing for backyard green,
the verve, the contentment.

-Tosha Michelle

When he speaks in my dreams
I am allowed to look at him

Somehow our clothes
are always off.

I let his perfect form
slide all over me.

His lyrical sound
is loud in my head.

How my mind wanders
and sparks.

The thoughts reaching out.

I try to still my hands,
but his skin is a tempting idea.

The open mouth kiss
of illicit toxins, sensual sin.

The more I try to latch on
the less real he feels.

The space between his face
and mine only grows longer.

I awake in my bed, the good girl,
still feeling the lingering wind
blowing in from the bad girl North.

How it likes to torment and tease
tameable me, untameable in dreams.

-Tosha Michelle

She only wants to bare her body
to one man, only one to know her bones,
the sighs of her mouth, of her heart,
the naked parts of her soul.

Only one man to strip down her voice,
to breathe back her breath,
only one to know the wilderness of her desire,
to know only one man calls out to her in his dreams,
speaking her name as if it were pagan as if
it were a psalm.

She wants uncompromising totality, the near impossible breath
from water, fire, bare, possession unclothed, belonging to one man,
his being inside of her, the only one she wants
to want. His bones. Her bones. Belonging.

She wants one man, only one, to undress his soul for her only.
Knowing that it won’t always be easy
some nights his heart might ache
for the touch of new bones, the unknown breath,
the unclothed breath of someone less difficult,
but she will honor that ache and sooth it with her sweetness,
breath after loving breath, speaking to her one man,
her only.

-Tosha Michelle

Photo courtesy of lostkat