White Flag

Your mouth is so close

That I can feel

The warmth

Of your breath

Smell your last

Cup of coffee


We have been circling

Each other

For weeks

Darting closer

Drawing back

Unsure of

Each other’s signals


The uncertainty

Makes me crazy

Unable to decide

Whether to pull you in

Or shove you away


We look like

The two dancers

We saw on stage in Boston

Last summer

A lithe, trembling

Pas de deux


Your scent is in my nose

If you linger here

Any longer


I may bite

Draw blood


It is exquisite


This push-pull

Between us

Molten electricity


The silver cord

Connecting us

At times elastic

At times steel

Keeps us firmly

In each other’s orbit


I feel like

I might die

If you touch me

And I will

Most certainly die

If you do not


I am not sure

If we are negotiating


A truce

Or surrender


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved



  1. I’ve been trying to catch that feeling in a piece I’ve been writing for ages, and it keeps slipping through my fingers. I’ve described my characters’ ‘pull and push’ as a dance, and it was great seeing how you used the same metaphor among words that are just right. Thank you for posting this, Christine! It’s so inspiring!


  2. Even the bad ones linger. Writing helps heal the hurt but keeps the good ones alive. I loved ALL of this, but that part especially took me back to somewhere else.


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