The Priory Lit. Mag

Melissa Fan
you and i, my friend
we walk through tattered streets
tossing small talk to the wind,
opting for the taste of grey sky instead.
unknowingly, we clash like rain drops
falling through worn down rooftops
causing tiles to slip against each other
but still, continuing on side by side.
i breathe in your smell of cinnamon and redwood trees
and don’t bother to ask how you smell so sweet,
as raindrops we beat against windowpanes
realizing we're being mocked on different faces
then forgetting where you start
and where i end,
we slip down, hitting a grown man's polished shoe
i break the cold with laughter
with you, still warm beside me
holding my hand and tugging me forward
if only just to fall again.