Sparked in Sparkhill

I:
I touched your beard, soft and long,
    like nimble threads woven together,
And wondered if my accident became your sin
    because I know you're a Muslim by the way you dress
I wish we could talk again outside of this grocery setting
    though I'm sure I'd be called an adulterer and stoned
Were this interaction to occur in other countries
 
In truth it makes me smile both outwardly and inwardly
    that you speak to me now with flirtation in your voice
I'm mutually attracted to your mocha and cappuccino complexions
    but I value my liberty and education, mindfully appreciating them often
I will not belittle my sex or shackle myself simply
    because God in His perfect will chose to create me female
There are so many questions I wish to ask you
    such as, "What do you call this hat you wear?
What is that kind of garment known as?"

II:
Clothed in black, I see only your eyes and hands
Yet, through your veil I see your smiling eyes
I notice the little, carefully sewn sparkles and beads that distinguish your burka from others
A woman in her 40s or 50s passes by
She speaks not a word, her hands covered with gloves
Others come through wearing saris, modern and conservative,
The mixture continues
More women walk past clothed by religion
While their husbands and children dress to blend with the rest of society
Can I enter your sexistly segregated world over many cups of tea?

III:
She stands at the door, head bent low, eyes to the ground, while you enter our shop.
You've been here many times, bought from us before.
"I'm shopping for what she likes," you say.  Are you really?
Is it truly her that desires this minuscule, sheer, flaming red thong for sexual pleasures?
Do you control every aspect of her life or can she speak out devoid of fear?
Now you stand before us saying you need to return them.
You say she didn't like them.  My mind wonders as to the reason.
Did she reject you sexually, or is it simply your gift she rejected?
Will you cause her harm if those be the reasons?

IV:
Little children passing by,
sometimes answering back when I say "hi"
Modern dress, they blend in with others
Contrasting sharply with their religiously dressed mothers
I notice the fathers dressed either way
No time for asking why, they all leave without delay