She stands facing us,
the solid heft
of her hips
showing no sign
of the skew and lilt
of real flesh --
they are flush
with our eyes,
making no exuses.

Unashamed, she stands
naked but sexless,
with only a hint
of pubic bone to mar
her frigid symmetry.

Would she feel like
lizard skin beneath
my curious hands,
thick and cool
like an earthenware pot,
or polished
like a familiar language?