Besot with Fire.

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I don’t want a dehydrated love
that lives somewhere between
purgatory and just good enough.

I’d rather bust my knee on the sidewalk,
bruise my arm and cheek on the wall,
crash my bike on a rocky path, crack my
wrist for a love full of oxygen caught fire.

Turning blue to red. Scarlett Crimson.
I don’t want to be rescued from the flames.
I want to be wrapped in them

Let’s lose the word complacent,
and replace it with passion.

Trust that a love full of imperfections
is more interesting than one
full of perfect nothingness.

Let’s get pleasantly disoriented
on a bed of salacious.

Where everything we need
is a finger trail away.

Let’s follow the glint of rosebuds
and not be afraid to step on the
thorns.

Let’s create a love of different rooms
we can waltz into.

Now a lover.
Now a friend.
Now a sexy stranger.

Nothing predictable, no room
for maybes.

I want a love full of poetry,
but nothing conventional

I want crude statements.
Expletives, obscenity.
Possessive pronouns.
Imperative verbs.

A lexicon of love and sex.
A love that’s not offended by
the Fword -foreplay
and likes to fucking fuck.

No! I don’t want a dehydrated love
I want a love that is fully
saturated.

I don’t mind drudgery but lace it
with swoon, with heat.

I believe in the power of endurance and faith,
but let’s pepper it with decadence and sin.

I don’t want us to look back
and realize how sane we were
for each other.

I want to reflect back on
a crazy love that took us and
the moon down.

One that resides somewhere
between soulful conversation and
a wet dream.

-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

Thin Mints and Unsent Letters

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Sharing one of my older poems 
Love is often on a street
that only runs one way.
In the space between
stop and go. You think
if you stand still long
enough, he’s bound
to bump into you.

You wait with your
defibrillator.
Doing painful logic
inside your head.
Charting your feelings
in an equation that
never adds up. No
wonder you never got
far in math.

You call out, and he
spits back a thousand
different tragedies.
The shaman in your
right ear says
“WTF, let it go”.
The leprechaun in
your left ear says
“Don’t stop now”.

You climb out of
the pothole you’ve
fallen into, saved by
a rope with a noose
on it.

You’re still alone.
Heart in the gutter.
You pick it up, dust
it off. The wilted
roses blowing
across the road.

You place one foot in
front of the other, only
to find you are on a
moving sidewalk
going nowhere.

You jump off and
hail a cab. In the
distance you hear
a steel guitar, and
what sounds
like a fight song.

You look for clues
and chess pieces
in your purse.
Trying to unriddle
the endnote.

You wind up at a
street carnival,
in a form fitting
black dress, high
heels and garters.

You look up and find
unsent letters in the sky.
Folding the stars into
tokens, you stupidly
hope for another chance
to win that bear.

-Tosha Michelle

You Walked Away

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You walked away. I remember the first time you walked toward me. We sat at what would become our table. You with your beer. Me, with my sweet tea. Two people sharing stories. Connected by our fondness
of music and difficult things

Afterwards, you walked me home. Maybe if I hadn’t invited you in. Maybe if you hadn’t leaned in and kissed me, we might have just stayed friends, but I had to kiss you back. That’s when things really began the undressing, tongue to flesh, a bite to the lobe, hands everywhere. A hasty love, a good idea at the time

That was before promises were broken, before you became a liar. Before I knew I’d never be able to quell
your wanderlust spirit. Before I understood you only find peace in leaving things behind

God, we were stupid. We should have just stayed friends. We sat at our table, you held both my hands at arms length and told me some bullshit how I’m better off with someone else, someone who knows how to stay, how to build. Someone who knows my nurturing is not something to just put up with.

I watched as you got up from our table one last time,
You started to turn toward me but got distracted by
the street noise and the call of distant continents.
You walked away.
I remember the first time you walked toward me.

-Tosha Michelle

The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award

sisterhood-award

My thanks to the lovely and talented Geetha B for this nomination. Please check out her exquisite poetry at:

https://geethaprodhom.wordpress.com/

The Rules

Say “Thank You” to the person who nominated you & link their blog to your post.
Answer the 10 questions given to you.
Pass the award on to 7 other bloggers and let them know they have been nominated.
Include the Award Badge in your post.

The Answers. (drum roll, please)

What made you want to start your blog?
– My friend Niles held a gun to my head and made me. No, really, he was always going on about how wonderful WordPress was. I finally decided to see what all the Niles buzz was about. I have to say, I am extremely grateful that he directed me here. The blogging community is so supportive. This is my favorite place to be on-line. People are so kind. It’s such a drama free environment

2. What have you wanted to do on your blog but haven’t yet? Why not?
– win a Nobel Peace Prize:) Honestly, I can’t think of anything. Perhaps, posting nude photos. I kid!!!!

3. Name one item on your bucket list, or more if you like?
– I would love to meet Jon Stewart. I’m a tad obsessed with him and James Purefoy.  It’s totally innocent. I just want Jon to feed me grapes while Purefoy (with his lovely British accent) recites Shakespeare.

I would also like to get my MFA in creative writing.  I already have one Masters degree, what’s one more? Oh, only a few thousands of dollars more in student loan debt. Meh.

4. What is your biggest fear
-the loss of my children. I never want to outlive them.

5. What is your best moment in life?
– the birth of my two daughters.

6. With New Years fast approaching, do you make resolutions? If so, name one. If not, why don’t you like to make them?
– I don’t. I think you should resolve to be better everyday

7. If you could host a challenge on your blog, what kind would it be?
– one to see who could pay off my student loans the fastest. 😉

8. What was the name of your first pet? What do you remember the most about them?
– it was a cat named Squirrel. In hindsight, kind of a silly name for a feline. I remember as a five year old, I thought it would be neat to see if he could swing. He couldn’t, but he was a superb clawer.

9. Did you ever go to a high school reunion? Was it fun or not?
– I went to my tenth. It was fun. I was such a nerd in high school. People were shocked by how much I had changed. Note, I’m still a nerd, I just dress better.

10. Do you have a pet peeve?
-so many but the main one- rude people. Manners matters. Kindness matters. Validation matters. It take so little to say thank you, you’re welcome, please, etc.

Now for the hard part.
The nominees
There are so many amazing women here. It’s hard to pick only a few. I love you all!

1. Stephanie from http://boldblindbeauty.com/
She’s truly an inspiration.
2. Meg from http://megdekorne.com/ an absolute delight.
3. Sarah from https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/ She writes beautifully
4. L. T. Garvin from https://broussardlana.wordpress.com/ Author and word goddess
5. Sanghamitra from https://sanghamitrachakrabarty.wordpress.com/ Poet and just a lovely human being.
6. Rachel from https://findingrachelsway.wordpress.com/ Her writing is so raw and real.
7. Cooper Cranes https://coppercranes.wordpress.com/ One of my favorite poets on WordPress.

Questions for Nominees

What made you want to start your blog?
2. What have you wanted to do on your blog but haven’t yet? Why not?
3. Name one item on your bucket list, or more if you like?
4. What is your biggest fear?
5. What is your best moment in life?
6. With New Years fast approaching, do you make resolutions? If so, name one. If not, why don’t you like to make them?
7. If you could host a challenge on your blog, what kind would it be?
8. What was the name of your first pet? What do you remember the most about them?
9. Did you ever go to a high school reunion? Was it fun or not?
10. Do you have a pet peeve?

She’s

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She ‘s Beatrice and Delilah.
an illusion, a crime

She’s a skyscape that slips
from blue, to grey, to red.

She’s a spider web over
a bank vault.

She’s the pull swirling
in his chest.

She’s a whisper of longing
stuck in his ear.

She’s a wilder life, the sweet
seed, his heart’s core.

She’s a sigh, ragged and
melancholy.

She’s a crushing need
a helix of yearning.

She’s chemistry and anatomy.

She’s the witching hour’s
pleasures of bourbon and sin.

She’s soaked in summer,
spun in contradictions.

She’s a flame grabbing what
it wants, a tumultuous embrace.

She’s a thousand lips bruising
his skin.

She’s a back arching, guttural
moan.

She’s rhythm and release.

She’s as intrusive as a power
outage

She’s as frustrating as a
misstep.

She’s as elusive as spindrift
night.

She’s a woman set in his type,
born in ink, language spilling out.

She’s what he conjugates.
The artistry of his craft

-Tosha Michelle

Different Types of Love.

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A note from the poet This one it a bit on the silly side.

Different Types of Love

I love you, but I’m not
in love with you.
I love you like a brother.
I love you,
but your friends have to go.
I love you,
but its complicated.
I love how you are
a dare, a rage.
I love you for your
spirit and how it makes
me think of the ways of
the flesh.
I love how I’m a shrine of
longing for you.
I love the showmanship of
your voice and how my
skin comes alive from
the pitch.
I love how your orbit is
constantly circling me,
but you are never there.
I love how I drown in the
upwelling of your coldness,
just happy to be touched
by your water.
I love your family.
They’re so much saner than mine.
I love your hair and how
I want to sink my teeth
into your neck.
I love how if I tasted you,
my heart would turn blue.
I love you for your
opulent sadness.
I love you, but I don’t
know you.
I love how you write
I want to f””” your poems
I love how you don’t
see me.
I love you more
I love you in spite of
the restraining order.
I love you for hitting me.
I love you more than I ever
loved anyone..
well, except for John and David.
Oh and Kyle.
I love how you get
my sense of humor.
I love your madness.
It’s so competitive.
I love when you go Fifty Shades
of Christian Grey on me.
I love your emotional surcharge.
I love the curve of your hips,
the thrust of your sway.
I love you for your
smarmy imagination.
I love the crack
running through you.
The one I’ll never be able
to repair.
I love how you know all
the words to every Morrissey
song.
I love the void you’ve created
of yourself.
I love how you peel away my
sanity, and suck on my wounds
I love how bright and alive the
world taste when I am
beside you.
I love you, but I hate you.
I love the swelling edge
of your core, the unthreading
of the pulse in my center.
I love how your darkness
casts shadows in my soul.
I love how all things nerdy
and bombastic ring in you.
Often shrill, but always shrewd.
I love you but you’re fictional.
I love you, but I could really
love you, if you loved me

I love you..but…

-Tosha Michelle

The Importance of Being Wicked.

I know the importance
of manners and kindness.

Every now and
then though, I take
advice from the devil,
who likes to massage
my shoulder.

I break the cup of tea
and guzzle from a
wine bottle. I rip
apart my dress of
virtue and fornicate
with the wild flowers.

I dance naked through
a continent of imagination.
Stopping to wink coyly
at the opposite sex

Sometimes I swim
on a full stomach
and dress as a
category five hurricane

Finding passion in
every swirl. He tells
me, I’m such a pretty,
little savage.

He encourages me to
be reckless with my
destruction. Briefly,
the world stops for me.
I speak without language.

Then I awake in a bed
of obligation and social
graces, a world of selfless
and righteous living.

Posed. I rise and begin
my day. The devil hides
under the pale satin of
my dress. Later, we
scribble poems over
a path of moonshine,
skinny dipping in a
dark pond of paper.

Diving to the bottom
of uncharted debauchery.
Laughing at how “literally”
some people will take
this poem, and how
one will say he knew
it all along.

-Tosha Michelle

Blown Away

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Today you called me
to tell me the mistake
wasn’t what we had,
but what you tossed
away.

The winds here are
strong. The storm
rages heavy with
grief and regret.
All the windows
in the house
shatter.

My blood is cold.
My heart tied to
a madwoman’s
fears, while the
heart gains
strength from
the head to
to bolt the
reminding
door. My
fingertips
scarred, I
hang up
the phone.

The love we had
buried under stone
All the cracks and
corners filled.

You introduced me
to the death of love
and now it is your
disaster to owe.

-Tosha Michelle

What Type of Man is He?

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What type of man is he?

He’s of the tall and handsome variety
Bright, witty, well schooled in inky places.
He’ll seduce you with the sweet cadence
of his voice, making you think of velvet,
ivory towers, the first sip of hot chocolate,
and the fragrant smells of fall.

He’s the type of man who knows
how to wear his clothes. Fashionable.
fitted to his slender, masculine physique.
He is habit forming to the eyes
Sexy glaucoma. Sparking a fever
with this sentence, which ends
with an ache.

He’s the type of man who will appeal to
your darker places with his Machiavellian
maneuvers. Your upper and lower body
engaged in political debate. One part
rallying for a call to action
(la Marquise De Merteuil)
The other wholly disapproving. A rebellion
stirred in ungodly places. Places that
will beget and begat desire.
Remember even in the Bible
all that begetting and begatting
ended in tragedy.

He’s the type of man who can unbound
the tightest of books. beautifully,
unfairly. He’ll draw the words out
like the sweetest, stickiest of
taffy. The pages anxious to please,
willing to set fire to themselves if
he finds them lacking.

He’s the type of man who’s engaging, entrancing,
so very hard to resist. Touch if you dare.
He’s a stunning disaster. One you can’t
turn away from. The type of man
you will be fatally drawn to. If you touch him,
you both may suffer. Yes, I know. He’s so magnetic,
but he’s a danger zone. One you know, you
shouldn’t enter, one you must not enter,
but if you are anything like me, you just
might anyway.

-Tosha Michelle

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