Song of sapphic orange juice by Aadrit Banerjee citrus blues on soft carpels, a tapestry of fibres weaved on them, lemon smell bringing memories of a hundred winter tales of grandmothers sewing, and shelling oranges, and afternoons of tangy flavored- kisses, peeled skin scattered over green grass, so red inside, winter sunlight playing on nude bodies tangled over graveyards, and half-eaten oranges over Jamali-Kamali's tomb, shaped like smiles of female hysteria, hidden under