An Object
My sumptuous smile catches your eye;
delicate throat on display-
can't pass me by.
My face is a product;
my lips a campaign
advertising in kisses-
they must entertain.
Unwrap my body;
open me up.
A gift of sensations,
merchandised touch
What is my value?
You figure a price.
Skin processed with powder,
eyes coated with ice.
Limbs packaged in denim,
silk, satin, or wool:
Levi, Chanel,
Moschino, Vokal.
I have no face,
a mask is all.
I am not a person-
merely a doll.
Published by Kimeara Williams
