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Ashley Judd Apr 2014
My winter man,
coated with a
layer of ice.

I slip clumsily
away from him,
slide towards him,
but he is always
out of reach.

He thaws
for a moment
with an embrace
and a subtle kiss,  
then disappears in to
the great white north,

Leaving me longing
for the sweet sting
of summer.
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.

Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.

The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.

Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.

Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.

Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.

Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.

And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.

Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Thia Jones Mar 2014
Finally I found the courage
I don't know how or where from
to return, to open up, to come clean
to reveal my deepest darkest secret
hoping I hadn't left it too late
hoping this wouldn't turn your love to hate

You dismiss your elf
hear what I say
none of it matters
you feel the same way
I'm your missing piece
I know that you're mine

I've known love many times before
but this, this is different
more intense, just, just more
I'm swept off my feet
you make me complete

Our love grows
gets more real every day
we text, we chat, we want to meet
and we'll find a way

You ask for intimate pics
of bits I'd prefer I never had
(and about which you express most unsapphic desires)
you promise to return the favour
just not right now
though I feel disappointment
at the time it doesn't
feel like violation

Do I need pictures anyway
when your description's so graphic
that I see every fold glisten
with the moisture that lubricates
your journey home
so we can connect again
and again we feel the thread
that connects us
draw ever tighter
we steal our moments riskily
we *** together on the phone

You give up some secrets
deep and dark and terrible
yet others less dangerous you withhold
your 'dodgy Irish' surname
and her name too
the 'other half'
namesake as it turns out
of my first celebrity crush
when I was nine
the Mills girl as was

Then for me, the small disaster
your text is seen
I become homeless suddenly
and worse than that
lose the love of my girls
though that will in time
return I hope

And I still have yours
so that's OK
we're sure that will last all time
and we get closer still
well at least until
Christmas, when I head to Wales
full of trepidation
to deliver the news
that will shake my family further

The journey's made easier by your promise
that you'll be there the very next time
(but you never will be
and it's so long before I go again
that for a time
I'll think you jinxed me
with that reneging)

Nothing changes overnight
or over Christmas
or over the next few months
while for me everything changes
except my love for you

It's still wonderful
when we're together
but it happens less and less
as the crumbs of your love
fall more thinly
the thread that connects us
slackens gradually, imperceptibly

The realisation grows
that your love is only borrowed
that your heart belongs to her
that return is overdue
and in time
I brace myself
ask the question
find it's true

You're happier these days, you say
more settled
I know that's been true for some time
understand you never really were mine
I'm hurt you didn't tell me before
but don't let that show too much

We agree to stay friends
I cry a lot
I cry buckets
I cry thunderstorms
I cry streams and rivers and seas

You still have my heart
but I never had yours
it was her's all along
and I think I understand why it is
that you love her
too much for honesty
but not enough
to set her free

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013
This is the second part of my 'After Midnight Suite'. It continues the story of the relationship begun in Part One and covers a period of roughly a year from Summer 2010.

— The End —