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

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Psalms of October

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October is the month for praise;
the beauty before winter’s gray.

It blushes the clouds with pink,
and paints the leaves canary.
The air so crisp and busy,
still warm from summer’s memory.
The sun brush stroked in red
streaking through the trees,
before their abundance
is carried away.

October is the month for praise.
Before a somber dullness
takes over.
Turning the days into
unkind nights,
when every thought we have
is nostalgic

October is fall’s long
stem rose;
trying to right the
wrong of December’s chill,
and mother nature’s
stony stare.

The red rose rises up,
as if to make amends
for what will become
of the bees and ants,
and all of us who strive
to live harmoniously;
those condemned to ice
and Jack Frost’s
fixation with noses.

October is the month to praise,
so we offer up our apple
cider alleluias,
in the field of the great pumpkin,
and await winter’s bitter thud.

-Tosha Michelle

Winter Solace

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The soft snow blankets the ground.
I stop along the road.
Reaching toward the sweet bliss falling down.
My soul gets lost in the winter wonder.
Skipping like a child across a mystic white river.
Carefree, Basking in the invisible freedom
Dancing as the trees smile in the stillness.
I bow to a December moon so clear and cold
The icy hands of time forces me to keep moving on.

-Tosha Michelle