Skin is like paper, revised

[Todd]

Let me give you a couple comments on the revision:

revised

Skin is like paper, dry, etched with soft grain.--How do you etch with soft grain?
Delicate and somehow pleasant to the touch.--Pleasant is worse than warm because it is more abstract, less sensory, and says less. Again, these throwaway adjectives delicate and pleasant hurt your poem. They weigh it down. Somehow is also a vague qualifier that adds nothing for you.
Dressing us in a fine cloth of warm damask.

Skin wraps us, casing, folded gently
Caressing us like broad arms, protective and caring.--Same comment with the adjectives here. I'll stop mentioning it now, as I'm sure you get the point.
Curving and taut, tailored to the inch in fit and cut.

Skin is fragile, yet supple and lithe, laid over flesh
Bent and twisted it is held, like water in a creek bed.
Breaking like a butterfly's wings, dashed by the wind.

Skin is browned and black, blistered and burnt.
Layered from beneath, fire given life’s touch. - not sure what I want to do with this line
Peeling like ribbons, freed of the vestige of thews.

Skin is so thin and slight, so easily sundered and broken
It cracks suddenly like a fine china, in pale, slender splinters.
It is dashed like an innocent dream upon the harsh dawn.

Skin carries a tale authored, in forlorn coloured inks of pain and regret.--How do we know what a forlorn coloured ink is? This is simply the author trying to infuse the characteristic into a noun without earning it with a good image. This is also what's being done with "of pain and regret". They don't really accomplish what you're trying to use when you cop put with this construction and again attempt to infuse characteristics that your imagery hasn't earned for you. This needs a lot more thought to work.
The days of its owner is scored in words, pale and mute.
A life of times on a surface, laid bare for one with eyes.



Skin is like paper - first posted

Skin is like paper, dry, etched in soft grain.
Delicate and somehow warm to the touch.
Dressing us in a fine cloth of heavy damask.

Skin is like paper, fragile, supple and lithe.
Torn like butterflies wings, dashed by wind.
Bent and twisted it clings like water in a creek bed.

Skin is like paper, casing, folded and wrapped
Caressing us like broad arms, protective and caring.
Curving and taught, tailored to the inch in cut and fit.

Skin is like paper, browned and black, blistered and burnt.
It boils from beneath, living fire giving it life’s touch.
Peeling like ribbon, freed of the vestige of flesh.

Skin is like paper, thin and slight, easily broken
It breaks like a fine china, in pale, slender splinters.
It is dashed like an innocent dream upon the harsh dawn.

Skin is like paper, it carries the tale of times past.
The life of its owner is written in words, pale and mute.
A life of times on a surface, laid bare to one with eyes.


thank you to all who read this and leave appropriate comment

So just some basic thoughts for you. I hope they help.

Best,

Todd