Zen: A rusted winter,
an illusionary connection --
I can't get no abstraction;
I wonder if that's how it seems?
Ai: It's a type of unbearable stench, like ripping your guts in half and talking about it.
In our exchanged letters,
there's invisible text written between the lines.
*Together: Both the flower of a rose and its thorns are precious;
like the whin- er, whi-, er... neigh of a horse running through the wilderness.
Zen: Writing with the soul,
Ai: Reading wholeheartedly,
Together: We're that type of between-the-lines guys.
Zen: My adorable companion's ignition switch is
like a rental car's.
But it's all right, it's not like
my emotions have faded.
Ai: Hot sweat and tears - these things are just embarrassing.
In our way of doing things, there are hidden words between the lines.
Together: Like on the loom that spins the yarn of dreams,
The stars on the blue of the night sky sparrr- um- spar- um... shine.
Zen: Writing with childishness,
Ai: Reading with scald wounds,
Together: We're that type of between-the-lines guys.
repeat *