Between my shadow and my soul

"No one notices how the steam opens the rose of each mind"

What if shows me,

The shadowy charcoal etching
I vaguely try not to see
That lives vibrant in your working memory

Of me.

If only you knew then, what
You know now, she murmurs purringly.

I interject:
Then perhaps, they,
Would care more for me?
What a necessary pity.

And she is left unfree.

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