In the blue, over the blue, twin seas collide. Patience amid chaos, currents of wind and water caught between the hopes of breath and blood, longing for a moment that will never come. Storms of fury, propelled by lust, levied by the construct that some call love. But, they are not, and it is not. Merely the glint of beauty under a sun that shines everywhere, as long as they are nowhere.
In the blue, over the blue, hopes give way to reality. Impatience amid order, nature continuing her course between invention and convention, coming to a moment that never happened. A hurricane of thought, eroding memories unlived, but imagined. She is beautiful, though alone. Hints of what lies beneath blinded by a face that would again launch a thousand ships.
She is blue, within the blue, alive on a literal and figurative island. Patience amid order, following the rain as it washes away conscience and the remains of the day. Precipitation on the precipice, flowing down the path of least resistance while wondering what it would be like to be a flake of snow. Creativity gives way to necessity, and tears obscure a visage so wonderful when smiling.
There is no blue within the blue, as one shade fades into the next. Impatience amid chaos, enjoying the arrival of coming and going on a whim. She loves being wanted and wants to be loved, but knows that rivers of desires run to no command but their own. There is no beauty like water's, and none like the tiny beads of sweat, almost imperceptible, on the body of a woman I'll never see.