There is no color in our meeting; it's monochrome, sweeping through.
Let's entrust you with the pain as well.
The scars are traced firmly; merciless autumn has come.
Cool fingers, beckoning as they please.
The troublesome ice-like me after melting,
Gently scoop me up and play with my upper lip.
Even so, I search for one form of love.
The withered eyes that bind the present rather than the distant.
If possible, I want to end wrapped in you like this.
The pale skin we kept secret together, the moon itself is hidden.
Since then, I've grown to like the nights a little more.
In the sea of dependence, I forget to breathe.
Just before being swept away, only a tepid warmth remains.
The art of retreat; a smug kiss I dislike.
Don't leave me alone; already sense it, color me.
No matter what I say, words slip through in your room.
Tangled, asleep-tell me more than that?
In the smile's question, a wavering sigh; only the moon is watching.
By the time the next long hand reaches the ceiling,
You're gone already; I no longer need you.
Still, I certainly sought the shape of love.
The wet eyes that bind the present more than the distant.
If possible, I want to end wrapped in you, like this.
That wish, the night is hollow; morning comes with it in vain.
With a kiss that is gentle, hot, and cowardly.
Color me, the last night is lit by the moon.