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.