Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "something wrong with her skin, it was not her mind at all."

Where was her angel all those times the sky clouded over
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
Seems I might have stolen the blue part of her rainbow, but all I really did was make it bigger, a way bigger blue
Her lack of response opened a gate through which my mind started to wander, into a wilderness where the shadows all had teeth...
I set my sister up with her husband, and all I got was this great dress and a trip to Hawaii
All he left her was alone
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
radios work better when closer to her skin
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
Freud was wrong. Freud is dead. That is all.
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
All blues hail Mary with her roses...but you're their masterpiece
She was never mine. I always shared her.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
All that’s left of her is black print
Her hair was seaweed and the Pacific wind sang
making certain he was touching her
Her Ivory coast, her skin
A salted moment of memories smudged across my face, and I’ve already forgiven her. It’s all over now
All her stiletto syllables
How I invented Anna and made her a character in all my stories
Her name was Natalie
I was sure it was her
American Pie Presents: Something is Alive in Her Bosom 2
The movie in her mind
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She always was devious in her beauty
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
before the internet when teen had REAL relationship the boy could look at the girl and judge the diameter of her thorax with his feelers and determine whether the mating ritual could commence but NO MORE. evil woman use her computer sorcery
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
confusion in her eyes that says it all
The Tale of Sweet Cab-ij and all that Happened to Her
I don't think I was rude to her, just cold and curt
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
How to be strong for her, when all you want is to depend on her
All of her seconds were unencumbered
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
Something is Alive in Her Bosom
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
To better imagine the limits of the dried-up Martian sea, little Tatiana found it helpful to shape in her mind a great sinuous contour binding each sad, stranded boat to its neighbor
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
Despite her station, the quarry was never alone
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
The clockwork of her mind is unravelling, bits and pieces coarse with emotion
Only your ink stains on her skin
I could tell by all of her dead house plants
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
To Her Mind
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
An ocean away and here he was, seeping into her
He was hard in all the wrong places
there was more poetry in her shopping lists than in any of my rhymes
My skin is dark. Hers is the color of certain lilies.
so that all her children will be adventurers in light
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
Written with a Diamond on her Window at Woodstock
some say he was never here at all
Someone outlined against the sky, the sun too bright to see her face
Who let her get at the Johnny Walker
Her braid; I obeyed
all that time, all those threads, weaving through something that must have been far too confusing to enjoy
I daydream of her
to let her know
Written in her French Psalter
The Lark Burying Her Father
Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition
can it be that it was all so simple then
the small of her back
A woman and her Cock
Neko Case and Her Boyfriends
A Jury of Her Peers
Stand in the doorway and watch her
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
A really good sandwich that ideath could make to take to work with her
The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover
born under candlelight just from the edge of a knife, was it a life? or was it a light at all?
I can see her face
all it cost him was a Penny
His 'N' Hers
Her Handwriting
Looking back from time to time, her tears falling fast
Her Body Had Knots and Hollows
river, in all his innocent beauty and home in hers
Her Majesty
Take Her up to Monto
Pig on her back
Calling her number and having a male voice answer
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
A New Student and Her Father
A Jury of Her Peers: 2
I don't want to see her
Things you can tell just by looking at her
All of these thoughts came from my mind?
her
we went to the stars, but all we found was ourselves
I turned Quizro into a Quiet Riot CD, and all I got was this jar of lemon-flavoured pickles.
On Her Majesty's Secret Service
Herr
The Woman and Her Hen
I spent one year in love and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt.
her lips on mine
Ribbed for her pleasure
putting on her makeup
For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her
If You Followed Her Gaze
Take Her in Your Arms
Lady Daibu And Her Lover
her arms around me
The Old Woman And Her Pig
I worked at summer camp, and all I got was this lousy case of gangrene
The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even
Making her presence known
I think I've forgiven her
Meant For Her
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
If this were in person, I would have kissed her now
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
What do I call her?
right under her surface
She thought about giving him her heart
Funny -- she looks much smaller from outside her head
The woman with her legs apart
Making her presence known (Part 3)
The Saran Wrap Dominatrix and Her Cellophane Bondage Slave
A Fallen Caryatid Holding Her Stone
To Her Door
All acts of love and pleasure are her rituals
The sad thing is, if you get her you'll be sick of her in a year
Since I left her
Alice without opening her eyes says You have to stop crying you are shaking the bed.
Making her presence known (part 2)
Say that turning a teenage girl to stone is depriving the world of her
All The Wrong Questions
It was all awesome. Then the robots took over.
My Heart and Mind are a Hundred Assassins All Coming for the Lady at Once
All Our Wrong Todays
Long day, all I wanted was a cup of tea
I Kissed "Weird Al" Yankovic and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt
John Cassavettes Was No Help At All
hers
The total sum of all things would be zero if it was not for love
You like me in all the wrong rooms
The Milk-Woman and Her Pail
Do Her
I went to Atlanta and all I got was this lousy pile of junk
The Lark and Her Young Ones
The Bitch and Her Whelps
I don't think of her
The Ground Beneath Her Feet
Missing all the wrong people
The Author to Her Book
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
Her back
Her Royal Highness
My love in her attire doth show her wit
Someone set her face on fire and put it out with an anchor chain
Now I know why I get the urge to kill her
I do not see her
I fried myself in The Finnish E2 Get-Together, and all I got was a hippie song stuck in my head

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