He smiles, I see a charismatic king
His laughter is such an explosive thing
His glances are like a certain judgement
His touch is like a prayed-for punishment
It swallows me whole and into the shadows
until my brain pops and my heart shatters
I dance between his straightened teeth
and hang on his door like a weathered wreath
Like a thought or a ghost, I can't always be seen
I fall into his arms, a broken figurine
I draw back and piece myself together,
brush off the dust, stand graceful as his queen
I pray and I cry and I plead and I cling
to my charismatic king, my explosive thing
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