The sweet scent of the bosom

The tiny trivial tales

tinkle like gales

tangled with the myth.

                                        His voice cracks

in the other end of the cable.

and I could hear her

melodious silent words wandering in the background.

We giggled and chuckled

choked with charms

from the same plate.

                                    Chaoba dreams in her hostel in China.

Amo breathes nine ranges of hills away from home.

                                    Echal lies at the bosom decorated with lonesome.

I look to my right,

Turn to the left.

But I see them none.

Only books in tons.