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My wings fracture as you demand what I cannot give,
Images of my form,
though I've whispered no.
In this strange dance, I despise the shell and cherish the soul within—
Yet you remain blind to its glow.

Your eyes seek only bare skin; they dismiss my silent plea.
Every inch of my heart
Is yearning to be discovered
Seen and felt and loved
By the tips of your fingers
And when you retreat your hand
Your scent still lingers

— The End —