Her smile stretches wider than daylight,
a soft halo lighting her sharp grin.
She tilts her head, spills warmth freely,
honey-dripped syllables coating her tongue.
You think kindness lives in her throat,
but words twist sharp when backs turn.
She walks softly, whispers heavily,
a wind scattering seeds unbidden, unseen.
Behind curtains, reputations unspool, unravel.
Her laughter lingers, sweet and sour.
The air thickens with stories she braids,
spine-tingling whispers wrought with malice.
Still, she waves like an old lighthouse.
Her glow traps the weary like moths.
We smile back, unsure, complicit,
the perfect audience for her quiet storm.