Sifting Through Time

Looking for my African prince in all conventionality.
I would dress his wounds after his revolution for humanity.

Oh, you see I just long for him to hold me in his ebony arms.
For his hands to delicately slip between my thighs.
His lips to caress mine so smoothly.
I want him to taste me.
I want to taste him.
His tongue tracing ancient ruins over my bare skin.

Then when the night is done.
He will leave in the morning to fight against everything my color of skin stands for.
He will fight against the oppression.
Exploitation.
Racism.
Capitalism.
ism ism ism.

I too will walk down that path.
Fighting against the power structure that calls itself whiteness.
Most people don't see that side of me.

And that is perfect.
Those who share in the exploitation of beautiful human beings whose skin is darker than their white skin....
Will never see me coming until it is too late.

He sees that side of me.
He loves me for it.
And at night our bodies melt into one.

One revolution.
One fight.
One love.

Oh, my African prince is so much more.

I will know, when our eyes meet.