Skin (revisited)

It is rumored that there are 50 words

In the Eskimo language for snow

I ponder

Why are there not 50 words in the

English language

That I could draw upon

To describe that moment

When your bare skin

Touches my bare skin?


Many call me a writer, a poet

And yet words utterly fail me when I try to capture

That first exquisite brush of contact

There should be words to convey

How many textures a single human body can contain

From the smoothest silk of the insides of your arms

The iron of your biceps

The hair on your chest

The calluses on your feet when our legs brush


There should be a whole new language

To describe

The warmth of your body under our sheets

Pressed up against mine

It is not just the heat of rising passion

It is also tender blush

That spreads from my cheeks to my toes

Warmth that radiates outwards

Easing my winter chill


There should be at least 50 words

To describe the sensation of

Our mouths meeting in the middle of the night

We have created a symphony, a lilting duet

Between us for lips and tongues and teeth

That has only been refined over the years


There should be  at least 50 words

In this inadequate mother tongue

For how the feel of your nakedness

Pressed reverently against mine

Our lips and hands entangled in each other

Takes me blessedly away

From the chaotic overpopulated city inside my head

Allowing me for a moment

Just to be


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Obsession #2

Were you my obsession

Or was I yours?

When my ego was at all-time low

You told me I was






You told me that you and your lover

Were  in an open relationship

So I let you kiss me

I kissed you back

Looked into those gorgeous blue eyes

Tangled my fingers in your curly black hair

Made out with you until we were both

Breathless and aching

Turned out you and your girlfriend had different ideas

About how “open” your relationship was

She took me out for coffee and set me straight

She told me to stay away

I tried to stay away

But we were wildfire together

Juliet and Romea

Late night phone calls

Passionate love letters

Your best friend our go-between

Shaking her head sadly

Knowing this wasn’t going to end well

We had just enough impulse control

To keep our tank tops on

And our jeans zipped up

Given the reputation our emotional affair

Earned me

I have always kind of regretted

Not just tearing your clothes off

And getting you out of my system


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved



Our Banquet

The world can feel

A deprivation chamber




Our bed

A place of abundance

Private banquets served

Where we shall

Taste with our skin

Read with our hands

Swallow with our eyes

Feel with our breath

Hear with our hearts


Lay us down on

Sheets like golden tablecloths

Our bodies moving


A fluid tide

Rising, cresting like

Wine overflowing

Our goblets

Flowing out

To join cherry seas


Our breathing is still rapid, labored, but starting to calm.  Your hands are entwined with mine above my head.  Your lips look bruised from our passionate kisses when you lean in to kiss my lips again, then my forehead before you carefully untangle yourself from me.

I don’t know what comes next.  This is the first time that we have made love and everything is new, unfamiliar.  Our bodies are relaxed but the emotional intimacy between us is still fragile, as delicate as a globe of hand-blown glass.

You lay yourself next to me on your side, facing me.  I rotate my body toward you, now on my side as well. We are inches from each other.  I am aware that this almost feels more naked than when our bodies were joined.  I can feel the warmth coming off your body, the dampness of your skin.  Our scents mingle together in the air.  You must notice my goosebumps, my skin chilled without your enveloping warmth.  You pull the covers up to our shoulders and under the sheets you drape your leg over mine, offering me your body heat.

Your head is cradled on your bent arm.  I have never had this opportunity before to look so directly into your eyes. They are a startling blue, even in this low light, your lashes almost colorless.  Your reach out and touch my cheek, caressing it with your palm and then with the back of your hand. Your hand then moves slowly down my shoulder, brushing my arm, searching for my hand under the covers, which you clasp.

You bring my hand to your mouth and kiss my knuckles one by one.  You have not broken eye contact with me and I wonder idly what you are thinking right now but decide not to ask.  I will settle for the mystery and warmth in your eyes. Your hand again starts to travel up my arm slowly, resting on my shoulder.

I reach out and touch your face.  Your beard is surprisingly soft.  I trace your cheekbone, finally feeling at liberty to really look at you, to explore you.  There is a new knowing between us but so much we still haven’t learned yet, despite our coupling only moments ago.  I want to memorize you with my eyes, smell your skin and breath, paint you using all my senses, create muscle memory in my palms, in my lips so I will be able to recall the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you look right now in this moment.  In this after, when the rest of the world has fallen away and there is only you and I.


I stand before you

More naked

More stripped


Than I have

Ever been




I have always thought

Falling in love

Would be a gentle

Drop backwards

Gracefully landing

Onto piles of autumn


Or deep freshly

Fallen snow


But this falling

Is a mad



Through space

A free-fall tumble

Where I no longer

Know up from down


I am breathless

Worried about a crash

That might leave

My body and heart



On sharp rocks or

Hanging from

A tree branch


My heart

Pounds wildly

While you free yourself

From your clothes

There is no armor

Left between us

We are revealed


Equal parts desire

And fear


After an eternity

You step in

And hold my face



And I am feeling

Emotions I do not

Even have

Language for yet


I realize

That you are the

Eye of my hurricane

The calm

In the center

Of this storm

Capable of holding

Us steady

During this crazy ride


I am reminded

Of everything

That has brought

Us here

And this


Is grounding

I am less afraid

With your hands firm

But gentle

On my face


As if captured

In amber

Your extraordinary


Hold mine

Your skin

So close but not

Quite touching


And suddenly

All I want to do

Is bridge the distance

Between us

And continue

Falling into you


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


The Taste of Citrus

Silken black blindfold

Covers eyes

Feel your thumb

Tracing my bottom lip

“Open up” you say

I hesitate only briefly

Before I obey

Tongue and teeth greeted

With sweet-tart taste of ripe

Blood orange

Juices running

Down chin


Bare breasts

You feed me more segments unhurridly

Citrus dripping

Skin sticky

Your lips

Long and lingering on mine

Before trailing down to drink

Sweet-tart juice

From my warm skin


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved