The Way He Caters to My Skin.

There's nothing behind his voice...

hollow and deep, eyes are missing here...

he's making love to my masochism, he's kissing his artwork as his calloused hands decorate me, as his lips drink my skin...

I'm obsessed with walking, I'm pacing, grinding minutes into the ground...

I can still hear him, he's boxed my ears and echoes adore him...

he's making love

to me tonight

he's kissing the pieces of me that fell to the floor

and I've never seen his eyes..

so sullen..

I've never felt my

pain.

There's disorder under the bed, I'm crawling behind blankets

trying desperately not to breathe

the phone's dead, Dear, the car's not running...

my feet are glued to carpets, pulling urgently at threads and my toes imprison themselves in fear..

he's sharpening his teeth again with the spit of anger, I'm not a girl today...

I'm nothing but skin...

and he tastes me with the tip

of

his tongue, running his breath across his artwork,

I wonder if I should hang somewhere on the wall

I wonder

what I'd go for these days...

I wonder if it'd be much at all.

He's sleeping, he's fallen and devils don't desire this...

I'm underneath him, dragging my tears across his skin...

he's tired now, the walls are silent, my foolishness is wide awake..

he's made love to me

 

and beneath my scattered, damaged skin

I'm waiting, still,

to

hang.

 

Reviews

[J.P.O.et]

I'm not sure that I am qualified to review this and I have already read this several times but fear it may take several more to fully digest this.� That is a total compliment cause I am confounded by the layers and imagery here.� What really strikes me is the fear and the almost contradictory nature of the following lines,

'I'm obsessed with walking, I'm pacing, grinding minutes into the ground...'
But then
'trying desperately not to breathe
the phone's dead, Dear, the car's not running...
my feet are glued to carpets, pulling urgently at threads and my toes imprison themselves in fear...'

Wow, the way you convey the feeling of not being able to escape, the helplessness is amazing.
I love the comparison of the skin/artwork and the way way you really put it in the reader's face with,

'I wonder if I should hang somewhere on the wall
I wonderwhat I'd go for these days...
I wonder if it'd be much at all'

Overall great piece, the subtle and well placed rhyme scheme really works(bed,dead,threads)(wall,all,fallen)
and I am just overwhelmed by your talent. Going in my library for sure, well done.

J.P.O.et

[Antonio Valentino]

Jeanmarie, you are, such a talented writer, just love you stryle and your whole spirit. You amaze me, in many ways.

These letters were sad, here, hope this helps (((words))).

For you too.
:))

[Markymark]

Hmmm,

Well this piece is interesting. At first glance i thought you were a model being painted. Why would someone allow themselves to become but object, if only for one day (or night)? Eye-candy starving for appreciation. Such a feeling must be only slightly better than being alone. Body and soul, but him seeing only body. Do not fully grasp this piece, but it is brilliant nonetheless.

Mark

[Orlando Murcia]

Wowww! Very strongly written
I felt the agony and the disturbed
masterpiece shattered like really thin
ice

This was very moving yet beautiful
in a artistic kinda way

Great write love

Orlando M

[Fade]

Brilliant work Cashew Girl. Your abstract imagery has become more concrete, without your losing your voice, or style. I love the image of a work of his making... a malicious piece of art. You brought the image forth, and stuck with it until the end. Excellent work.

[Poets Soul]

This was an amazing poem/ Loved the imagery and raw, but soft emotion you put into this write. Excellent write. ty PS

[An owl on the moon]

Brilliantly moving through thoughts and feelings, emotion breathed in pieces of painful, haunting music... Isolation in the midst of passion... Sensual actions through emotionless movements... Dark and bold, lost in a world of anxious memory and empty todays... Amazing...

[Kara Emily Krantz]

"he's making love to my masochism, he's kissing his artwork"

"he's making love
to me tonight
he's kissing the pieces of me that fell to the floor"

"I've never felt my
pain."

"I'm crawling behind blankets
trying desperately not to breathe"
"my foolishness is wide awake..
he's made love to me"


This piece is very raw.... extra raw for you. It has less refinement, and more real-ness to it. It is jagged and uncomfortable... and beautiful, as always. But there is more than just the usual pain here - it is something much deeper, more profound... and less lovely. usually when you talk about the heartache it is laced with enough beauty to make the reader say "okay... it's worth it." but this doesn't have that. it's too raw... to the point that you are left raw, as well. and there's nothing beautiful, or worth it, about that.

i love you so god damn much!