she is a doll of supple clay.
              with ample cheeks,
opened fresh like roses from their  dewy  buds,
f r e c k l e d  with the soil that fed them.
her eyes,
dormant
behind the   glossy sheen.
they are            blue pools      of
           motionless gin.
  parted slightly,
her lips are
full & ripe
with the   silence   that her beauty awards.
for all,
a doll cannot speak
   until the words are forced in her mouth.
she cannot live,
yet she is the                           centre                            of their attention.
the breaths her lungs release are cold kisses.
her body is an
                      empty vessel,
coated in lust and desire,
                                                                                                         after all,
that's what she was made for.
created to be played with.
a toy in high demand.
               a doll of supple clay.