Sam had never been able to write poetry. He had taken an English class in college that involved poetry, and he had only passed because he could analyze it better than he could write it. At one point, he had tried to write a poem for Jess, because she loved things like that. In the end, he decided to just buy her a book of poems instead. Sam Winchester could do a lot of things well, but poetry was not one of them.
And then he met Martha Jones. The better he got to know her, the more sure he was that no words could ever describe her. For the first time in a while, he wished that he could write poetry.
He could write a dozen sonnets for each lock of Martha's hair, for every inch of her soft skin, and for the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. She was utterly and entirely beautiful. More than that, she was entrancing, from the way she talked to the way she laughed to the way she moved. She had utterly bewitched Sam, and he was happy to be under the power of his lovely enchantress.
She was all curves and angles, softness and strength. She was kindness and ferocity and loyalty and independence. She was so many opposites and paradoxes and yet somehow it all made sense. Martha Jones was utterly incomprehensible, but she fit into Sam's life in a way that no one else ever had. She blended in seamlessly while changing the whole backdrop.
Dean had been telling him for weeks to make a move, and Sam had every intention to do so. But the fact was, being around Martha drove him crazy. Sometimes he was so in love with her that he felt like his heart would explode, and sometimes she made him go half-blind with lust. He wanted so badly to caress the soft skin of her cheek, to brush his lips over her knuckles, to run a hand across the soft wisps of hair that didn't quite make it into her ponytail. He wanted to place a kiss where her shoulders met her neck, but that expanse of skin seemed so pure that he worried his lips would taint it somehow. He would have given a thousand things to be able to love Martha like he wanted to for even a moment: wholly and completely, body and mind, heart and soul.
For now, he contented himself with little things. The soft brushes of her hand, the light trill of her laughter, the way she said his name. He wondered what it would sound like for her to moan his name in the throes of passion. He wondered what it would be like to wrap his arms around her waist and see her smile every day for the rest of his life. Martha was amazing, and she made Sam feel things he hadn't felt in a long time.
Martha Jones was worth all the poems in the world, and then some.
