Mannequin

So you, mannequin,
stone-faced with your cool pallor,
 
industrially-manufactured lips
(careful not to kiss; they have poison)
 
oh, you mannequin,
you have mutated my own image,
 
twisted with your carved proportions
and your painted eye
 
lashes and your blank expression.
You have no openings or doors,
 
no slit for your mouth or the wonderful
pipes of your ears or
 
other places to peek and search
to find the soul inside you.