Petrichor

By Debanjali

Traces of your fingertips

reminisce your presence,

but the warmth of my skin

is long way gone.

The echo of your laugh

still surrounds me-

as you used to say,

my hair curls tickle.

Sunsets and whiskey

have always felt like you-

when your palms were on mine

and your eyes said ‘forever’.

Your scent was petrichor

and I was lost in it,

but now it all rains on me

as I still stand the same.

By Debanjali