The speaker talks like a salesperson pushing goods, but what's on offer seems to be a human body, and quite possibly a woman's. The pitch is brisk and practical: good teeth, live black hair, fine skin that has "hardly been used." The jarring part is how casually it breaks a person into parts, each one inspected and haggled over like secondhand furniture.
Underneath the sales patter, the poem hints at something darker. The lips "have lain there long enough," the eyes are "closed, sort of," and the buyer is told "you can make it work." Judging by these lines, the poem may be about a woman treated as an object, perhaps in marriage or sexual exchange, though the text never says so outright. The speaker's tone stays smooth and defensive ("Please do not touch," "I do assure you"), which makes it chilling. The final warning, that sold goods can't be returned, lands with cold finality. The mood is uneasy, sardonic, and quietly angry.