We both draw lines, dear,

and not with my rapidograph.

We have come to the conclusion

that you draw your lines

at the same time

I draw mine.

You draw your lines

in brilliant white.

I draw mine,

red as rubies.

In brilliant white

there is an appetite for destruction.

In red, the red of rubies,

there is utter mental clarity.

Destruction is drawn in lines.

Lines across albums.

Clarity, too, is drawn in lines.

Lines across hips.

Lines across albums?

Sure, I've touched powder.

Lines across hips?

Sure, you've touched blades.

Powder,

we have come to the conclusion,

is better drawn with blades,

just like I draw mine.