Men like to lay their heads on my thighs and pray
They like to hear the rhythm of my heart throughout the day
My body feels like a cloud, pulling them away

From reality, they stare at me, as if I am a piece
Of art in a museum, but it's one they cannot lease

It is owned by the gallery and sometimes you can ask
If you can borrow all of it to complete your little task

And sometimes, if you're lucky, you will get to touch
All of the marble curves it has, it's thighs, it's lips, and such