The art museum, was her favorite place
With her hand; the statues she would trace
The doctors told her it was a “Plastic love”
Her official diagnosis; fit her like a glove
Statues, mannequins and immobility
The objects of her fetish; in her reality
They never moved under her caress
Her passions, hidden beneath her dress
The cold smooth feel or bronze or stone
Overwhelmed her, and made her groan
She liked to touch them, when alone
She wanted her sexual arousal, unknown
Her most erotic fetish; just inside the door
A Spanish dancer she always wanted to explore
“Do not touch” read the sign upon the bust
Very stimulating; empowering her lust
She waited, until almost closing time
The room was empty, the pickings prime
Kissing and fondling the marble stone
She suddenly realized, she was not alone
The sculptor of the bust stood there
Of her fetish, he was now full aware
Come, I have a perfect man for you
Complete with bronze phallus; tis true
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