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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