His skin is black, 

like the coffee in my cup, 

like the air at night, 

like the silence I don't understand. 

Her skin is brown, 

like the dust in the wind, 

like the bark on the tree, 

like the repression I don't understand. 

Her skin is white,

like the blankness of the walls, 

like the snow on the ground, 

like the privilege I choose to ignore.