I swallowed dry air thick and cracked

I swallowed dry air, thick and cracked,

like dust caught in a throat’s tight fist.

Heat baked the sweat on my skin,

my breath gone sour before it left.

A cough split the silence,

a brittle snap breaking inside me.

The water bottle—cool, untouched—

stared back, a mocking glass wall.

I chased the taste of wet,

but only found the dust

that hangs

long after the storm.