A Lost Day

By Shreya Ghoshmitra

An ode to a

warm afternoon,

the air, sultry

and hot.

The indigo curtains

drawn and static,

as the tiny

specks of dust

swim in a

pool of light,

peeking from

the slightly

parted door,

that illuminates

the curves

where your lips

had been the

previous afternoon.

The fingers graze

the silhouette that

your tongue

had traced,

nicotine and alcohol

in your breath.

Haze. Blur.

The room fades

away and the

realms disappear,

as I lie in a stupor

and the

cigarette smoke

rises to oblivion.

By Shreya Ghoshmitra