The CityCenter Black Woman

Foreign eyes aroused

Toward a Dior boulevard;

A controlled appetite

Tasting flashes of luxury,

Wrapped in all whiteness;

Then, I freeze.

Here, she is

Behind the clear glass;

One of my own,

An epic silhouette,

Velvet brown,

Confident charm.

She sits

Alone or waiting?

For a lover,

For a friend,

Who cares?

She needs no one.

She sips;

Red wine, red lips

Red blouse, matte skin

Red polish, bright nails

Her throne;

She prevails.

Refined hair,

Tresses of silver layers;

Anointing a sure posture,

Veiling untold wounds

She is an aged youth.

It's not about the money,

It's not about the pearls;

Majestic elegance crowned

Where least expected,

Where blackness - defamed

Not that she has arrived

Not that she finally made it

She has always been there

Opportunities were just mere.

Her world,

My world,

Separated by that clear glass;

Though united by spiritual class;

I gaze

I long

For the flawless grace.

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