more fiction.

Oh my clueless heart searching for some small measure of hope.
She was beauty, so young and fresh with wide blue eyes.
I took her hand and hated her youth
I squandered mine so easily on baggy clothes and feminism.
He danced around us watching as we spoke.
Draw my eyes down, along the edges of your jaw and to the flat plane of your cheek.
I place a pencil on my lips in echo of my longing
lips curling tenderly over it as we speak

She will not write this to you
or crave the soft brush of your fingers
as I give you a hundred colored honeycombs
In my new city will you sit
your back winged among the mass
surrounded by a thousand reflections?
throw them in the air and let them land
colored non pointed stars fluttering falling
all of the colors I find dancing in your eyes
as they fall on me

-by the Corby