she was white
I am a black
we kissed a storm in Geneva
People would stare.
she whispered in French
spoke in words I barely knew
that love was ours
words which I begged were untrue
she was my moon
and I was the werewolf
when she showed up
we kissed, oooh,
she told me
I was hers
I told her
lies
now the moon haunts me
I am in black Africa
and when it is dark at night
The moon has to show up.
White, like her
White.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem