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 … Continue reading Skin
my dead haunt me nightly in technicolor dreams rich with detail texture surround sound dialogue seemingly unaware that they have passed through the veil only dwelling here, in my fertile unconscious often I wonder if it is bad etiquette to point out that they are gone? does Miss Manners have guidelines for social interactions with … Continue reading Ghost Stories – Christine E. Ray
words and phrases lay abandoned on every flat surface and on the floor below me so much glittering confetti that crunches under my bare feet the party over guests long gone home leaving me alone adrift among empty wine glasses plates of half-eaten promise I feel simultaneously sick from fare far too rich with false … Continue reading Empty – Christine E. Ray
bare skin glides against my rough edges like warm sand you buff my contours smooth mouth tracing the trail of my vertebrae you become cartographer of my ridges and valleys before breathing electricity along my spine bold fingertips find the places I ache work me like clay patiently loosen the knots I have tied myself into until … Continue reading Saturday Afternoon Poetry
I colored carefully inside the thick black lines of every coloring book ever handed to me my Crayolas never straying across socially imposed boundaries about who I could love who I could be I turned 16 chafed with the need for freedom to color the sky in shades of lavender the grass hot pink my … Continue reading True Colors – Christine E. Ray
Brave & Reckless 