Secret Heart

How many times

Had she revealed

Her secret heart of hearts?

She didn’t know exactly

But suspected

That sightings

Were rarer than those

Of a phoenix in flight


She talked

Around it agilely

Hoping to confound

Lovers into thinking

They had seen


There was to see

Of her heart

Of her depth


It was only in the deepest silence

When the moon was full

And the angle just right

When gentle eyes

Were able to capture hers

Like a butterfly

That a small window

Might open

And reveal all

There was to see


A clockwork



Full of stars

Full of shadow


And breathtakingly

elusive . . .


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

After Hours: Fire

The sheets with tiny pink rosebuds, incongruously innocent, are tangled beneath us.  Your lips travel slowly down from my earlobe down to my neck, marking your territory.  You stop at my collarbone; nipping it gently with your teeth before lifting your head to look at me.

Our shirts are lost somewhere on the floor, my bra discarded on the bed along with our socks.  Jeans and underwear create the only barrier that separates us from each other’s skin.  I want to know your skin as well as I know my own.  Every scar, every freckle, every tattoo, every perfect imperfection.

You hair is damp with sweat as you balance above me.  Your eyes are dark, intense, questioning.  I involuntary bite my lip.  I am already anticipating your fingers deftly unbuttoning, unzipping, removing the obstacles.  You take me out of my always busy head, reminding me that I am flesh, I am fire when I am with you.