This idea came into my head and I tried to find the words...I just hope they make sense. Inspired by a review I gave to a lovely story, Yellow, by shallow-seas-we-sail (go read it, it's beautiful) Anyway...

She doesn't know you watch her like this, when she's engrossed in a report or an interesting article, or when she's elbow deep in a lifeless body, giving a voice to those who can no longer speak for themselves.

But you do just watch her, lost in quiet fascination, she is your only weakness, your Achilles Heel. A spellbinding distraction, and you can't look away for fear of breaking that spell- in fact you never really want to look away again.

You wonder how she takes ordinary and turns it into extraordinary and you do believe she could turn dust into gold if she had the right equipment. Yes, you think to yourself, Maura Isles is extraordinary... and you're the luckiest person in the world...simply because you get to see her like this.

And if you knew someone was watching you the way you watch her, then you'd arrest them for voyeurism...but this is ok, this is allowed- it's just Jane, just paying attention... detecting.

For a woman like you, not normally given to waxing lyrical on these matters, you feel she has you thinking like some kind of soppy poet, or at least, how you imagine a soppy poet to be anyways...romantic, dewy eyed, and soft.

There is so much you wish you could say to her, to tell her exactly how you feel about her, but you're sure you don't have the words, well, not the right ones anyway, not that would be enough for the educated Doctor Isles.

You want to say that when her lips find yours they feel like, cashmere, and you know you'll never feel cold again as long she holds you in her warm embrace.

You want to say that her eyes must surely have caught some stardust, and when she turns to meet yours you want to look up at those stars and thank them for being so careless with it.

You really want to say that when she kisses your scars that you always saw as ugly reminders of your past, you now understand they are just another part of you for her to love, but you still can't quite believe that she fell in love with a humble detective in the first place.

No, you're just being dumb, and sappy- none of your words seem right, not for Maura, they are best left to the poets, they can say it so much you figure you'll just keep watching... see how the dappled afternoon sun coming in the through the window seems to frame her perfect features- as if she's sitting for an artist- and you're sure that even Monet would have had struggled to capture just how beautiful she is. All you're sure of in this moment is that she is...breathtaking, and no canvas could ever do her justice.

But there is something about this exact moment that reminds you of your school days, of English Literature lessons that seemed to last an eternity when you knew you had sports up next... Shakespeare, that's the guy. You didn't really get the flowery, flouncy, words, most of them made no sense at all, and anyway, you were more interested in heading to the field.

But there was one speech you always remembered, from Romeo and Juliet- and that's only because a shortage of willing girls and your deeper voice meant you read Romeo's part.

You never really understood it's meaning, but now, watching Maura with her back to the light, the words swim around your mind as if they were written specially for her...

...'But soft, what light through yonder window is the East...and Juliet is the Sun...'

Suddenly in this exact moment it all makes perfect sense...and you wish that you could always face the East... but as your life and everything in it revolves around the woman you love, you realise that perhaps you already do...

"You're my Sun Maura..." you tell her excitedly when she she's finally finished reading that interesting article, and she comes to join you on the couch.

"I am? Okaaay...I think you might need to elaborate on that."

As you try to think of the words to explain it, she brings her stardust laden eyes to yours and kisses you with her velvet-cashmere lips.

You find yourself wishing you'd paid more attention to that Shakespeare guy, he seemed to have all the right words.

I like to think there's a poet in all of us...hope you liked it. Maybe tell me what you think.