Feet crossed in the swing of my first monsoon.
Air thick and hard to draw in
Bombay
Bangalore
Himalaya
India
The words intoxicate.
My eyes, drugged in your image, find you anywhere.
Has the air in our sky blown from yours?
Drawing in the spices of my borrowed town,
I wonder, have you been there in this lifetime?
Because it's harder to breathe now, travelling backwards.
And there are no oceans here.
