Written by Arlee Francis
People are scattering from this street, like rain hitting the pavement during a summer storm.
you stand, face turned up to the heavens.
I watch a raindrop trace a path down your cheek and I imagine my fingers in its place.
Brushing the angles of your jaw, committing it to memory, so I can trace it out onto paper with my pencil.
- A poem I didn’t know how to finish