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jeanne rene watson

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The Cruel Account of My Monsieur Feuille de Papier
by jeanne rene watson

Wednesday, December 08, 2004
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The Cruel Account of My Monsieur Feuille de Papier

Monsieur Feuille de Papier
you gawk at me
aloof and empty
you mock my passion
these eyes prisoner
to your harsh and penetrating countenance
it sends chills
down my elastic spine

and i grovel
sup on the terror of your dismissal
my lucid sight grown transfixed at the hint
my red blood boiling
at the suggestion of making love to you

My Monsieur Feuille de Papier
i cannot exist without this making love to you
my lips to your pale face
give a barrage of manic kisses
writhe as i move you to my tango
my rhamba
my minuet of eloquence
of time
of place
of empathy
of the disgraced
Mon Monsieur dance
and laugh and drink this contemptible wine
i dare to spill

how you anger me
so fickle your affections
how you torture me
walking out
walking in
hours to days
when you abandon me
shriveled in some despairing universe
soused with only my disheveled name

then again
to return bounding into my quarters
just to kick my protruding stomach

i grow weak
  mais ce soir
  ce soir
  une page blanche . . . blanche

your face offers no clue
i beg, Mon Monsieur
dine on my fever
fulfill my rapture
prepare for me
a warm bath tapped with words dripping
from my severed vein

jeanne rené 11/04


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Reviewed by Michelle Kidwell Power In The Pen 12/9/2004
This was a powerful excellent piece
God Bless
Reviewed by jude forese 12/8/2004
i can feel your pain just oozing out ...
Reviewed by E T Waldron 12/8/2004
Jeanne, drawing a blank in style, sublime bloodletting...;-)
Reviewed by Lori Moore 12/8/2004
A beautiful write.
Reviewed by Kevin Mc Crum (Reader) 12/8/2004
This may be the rebirth of poetry noir! Excellent piece.
J'ai apprécié ceci beaucoup.
Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 12/8/2004

GAD! this is a strongly visceral write--sounds like my fickle Muse LOL

an excellent presentation and write--BRAVA!

(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)
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