If you weren't dark skin you'd blush,
You and your pleasantly "spring" demeanor,
blooming smiles in secret inside your hazmat suit,
from any type of feelings,
you are already infected,
-- and contagious,
yet refuse to admit the goosebumps
on your neck,
without the fortunate luxury of showing your emotion
society has deemed you timeless,
an eloquent flagrant aroma,
the definition of fine wine with a zest -- a spiciness of an impatient "summer",
you are warm,
and the stem of your smiles comes with thorns of poison,
weapons of mass destruction,
so you're cloaked,
tucked away from societal norms,
and expectations -- who are we to judge,
you are correct,
your skin,
is the right tone,
to
grab the attention for all the unwelcome,
literal and figuratively baring a cluster of
ideas,
wants,
desires -- requested by only the elite,
pasteurized and preserved until then.