Your arrogance -
a juicy fruit salad
of acrid glares
that leaves a 

tart citrus tang
on my tongue
and a grimace
across my face.

My royal charter 
was for the 
acquisition of you
as a partner in love:

you were 
my pursuit 
for which 
my armies 
were marshalled -

such romance of royalty,
clothed in the 
emperor's new robes

of a tender touch,
now leaves me 
cold, naked, and broken.

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