Layer after layer of chrysanthemums
Trodden under heartbeats and door slams
Boat rides on rivers of abusive clampdowns
Every time someone sang that song.
Writhing, crawling, frenzied turning of pages,
Pouring into a teacup of dreams
The undergrowth of grass between pebbled paths spoke
Every time someone stopped, looked up and straightened their clothes.
Fidgeting with faulty locks
A raised eye brow in covert admiration
Cryptic contours of the body got smudged
A few times people brushed past each other under the lamppost.
The clouds quietly squinted
Hidden behind layers of moss,
Hoarse voices knitted together
A few times the wasp buzzed against a glass window.
Frugal raindrops as windchimes
Glossed over by foreign betrayals
Running across knee-deep tears
The time that they realised that pieces in the puzzle were lost.