The Prince
a whisper is a bitter stranger
with patience
like smoke listening
for fevered voices
wordy and floral
and slow to decay
it awaits their loins
as they dance
like dewy perfumed fools
until they dry
and crack as kindling
a whisper is the unwanted
child of battle
yielding a porcelain sword
from a safe distance
returning at nightfall
owning a crown.
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