The Scentless Gown

An old body

alone in a room.

A cigarette between his fingers —

glowing,

dim.

His eyes on a dress,

a white gown

lit inside them.

He turns

his eyes to the sky.

No stars.

No moon.

Only pale blue

staring back.

He drags the cigarette slow —

watching the red fade.

The dress slips from his lap.

The bulb flickers once.

Smoke fills the room.

The gown holds no scent.