I accumulated bits and pieces of exquisite cloth,
took surplus spools of thread and slender bodkin,
stitched them all into a rich long articulate fabric,
which I proudly christened as my silken summer suit.
I amalgamated bits and pieces of pliable rubber,
acquired bountiful amounts of glue from bark of tree,
coagulated the curry of glue and rubber, exposing them to the Sun to dry,
the eventual outcome was as enchanting as twinkling stars in the sky,
what I now held in my palms was a pair of solidly punched and angular
cowboy boots.
I gathered bits and pieces of coastal silver sands,
moulded them deftly with soft pressure of my knotted fingers,
engraving intricate designs on the exterior periphery of structure,
embedding the pure sand walls with a plethora of translucent shells,
the sight for me to witness was a feast to my hungry eyes,
a midget sized sandcastle now stood ornately in vociferous currents of ocean
wind.
I assembled bits and pieces of wine red brick,
prepared a blend of cement and crushed chips of granite,
studded vacant spots on the exterior with pure Italian glass,
laid a colossal drainpipe from head to toe,
the aftermath of which saw me in direct confrontation,
with the magnanimous silhouette of the princely edifice.
And finally when I mixed bits and pieces of my tears with hers,
the liquid was resplendent with a mystical aura,
it made us reminiscent of the times of distress and gruelling agony,
when we lived bifurcated by feckless boundaries of class and status,
we still drank the concoction regularly decades after tying the nuptial chord,
it quenched our thirst like God cures all those afflicted with heinous pain.
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