hola peeps :) my best friend sort of challenged me to do this while we were sitting reading and she was reading harry potter and said how if must have been so difficult to just write a poem like J.K. did (i forget what it was for now) and i said it couldn't be that hard if you knew what it was about...so she bet me i couldn't and then we came up with this and i FULLY regret doubting the complicity of poetry, even free form. hikus are more my style ;) so anyhow i hope you enjoy this and my poem thingy doesn't grate your ears and chew at your soul :$ also i hope it's not too rough or anything i didn't really edit it and i feel like it's very brief...

disclaimer: i don't own jez who is currently 15 or morgead (do the math) or the night world

Poem

Longest. Day. Ever. Jez thought as she crammed a few notebooks and pencils into her backpack from her locker. On a whim, she snatched up the folded piece of paper teetering on the edge of her shelf. She didn't know what it was, but it could be important.

Shutting up her bag, Jez prowled through the overcrowded hallways trying her best not to touch anyone. Squeezing through the front doors, Jez cursed every single student who seemed to like to stay after the bell to talk to friends. They were just making everything harder.

She was only trying to get to the parking lot so she could find her bike and get to Morgead's, but her red hair stuck out like a flag and people either moved away as soon as they saw it, or they moved closer.

Finally being spat out of the crowd, Jez strode for her bike and nearly ran over three twelfth graders on her way out.

Then, she nearly knocked down the door to Morgead's apartment on her way in.

"Holy Mother of – Morgead, where are you? I need to hit something!"

She stormed in and threw her bag at Morgead's torpedoing form on the couch – shooting up into a somewhat sitting position and blinking into focus – and he caught it just before it hit his chest. Then she slammed to door shut and kicked it for good measure.

Bitter about being woken up so violently, Morgead chucked Jez's bag to the floor and shook hair out of his glacier eyes. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

Jez turned around and Morgead realized that the lower part of her hair on one side was matted strangely, and there was a sour smelling stain down the front of her shirt.

"Wow, what happened," Morgead forgot about his anger as he squashed down a sudden desire to laugh.

"Some disgusting vermin dropped a carton of milk on me."

Morgead snorted and Jez hissed, "It's not funny. That was at lunch and I've had to walk around in this stinking top all day."

She really did mean stinking. Morgead could smell the curdling milk from where he lounged on his futon.

"Go take a shower then."

Jez muttered an assortment of agreements and curses as she shuffled around in agitation. She'd already tugged off her stiff shirt by the time she passed through Morgead's room on the way to the bathroom, and Morgead took a moment to appreciate the supple curve of her chest as she turned the corner.

"Oh, and Morgead?"

"Hmm?" he had to work out the crick in his neck that view had cost him.

"Once I'm done, I want to fight,"

Morgead couldn't just not roll his eyes at Jez's predictableness.

Several minutes later, a dull buzz sounded from Jez's bag on the floor. Her phone.

Knowing it would be either a text from Bracken or one of the gang, Morgead fished around until he found it and pulled it out. But with it, he pulled a curiously soft slip of folded paper, worn as if someone had worried over it for a long time.

He glanced once at the paper and checked Jez's phone. Once text from Bracken: Be home for dinner. Principal called again.

Morgead sniggered to himself at Jez's expense. She must have done something to the vermin who splattered their milk all over her. Maybe she'd splattered their blood everywhere as well.

Turning his attention back to the note paper, Morgead tossed Jez's phone onto the table and leaned back with his feet propped up beside it.

Opening it, he found thick, slanted writing smudged here and there, and he began to read:

Breathtaking beauty be the envy of gods

To which no man may lay claim.

She cannot be won, no,

Not through valour nor riches nor fame.

Pale as the moon and thrice as lovely,

With eyes just as silver as they are blue and as cold as they are cunning

That hold a secret in their deepest depths where be a better man than I, lost thusly.

One who seeked to be beheld if not for a breath by eyes all vibrant and real and stunning.

And sharp be her tongue, like a lash or a hit,

Spinning tales of untruth by a voice too clear, too clean, too sweet

For the words that are loosed: laced with poison and contemptuous wit.

And such dangerous beauty framed by crackling fire, so alive that taming it would be not a feat,

But a sin! A monumental sin! To leash such a wild beast; to snuff it out; to water it down.

And still this creature knows no bounds of beauty or body or soul,

She moves like water, ebbing and flowing and rippling as hard as steel and as soft as down

Predatory in her ways, I call her temptress, or siren, or

Jezebel.

Something in Morgead's jaw popped. And his eye twitched. And best of all, his fangs were bared.

At a piece of paper.

With embarrassing effort, Morgead retracted his fangs and took a couple calming breaths. He was still scowling at the paper and wondering who would have such devotion to Jez that they would write an entire poem about her. Surely Jez didn't spend time with the vermin at her school; didn't talk to them or befriend them.

But the poem . . . was delightfully vague. And superficial.

Breathtaking beauty be the envy of gods. That was true. But anyone could see that.

Pale as the moon and thrice as lovely, with eyes just as silver as they are blue and as cold as they are cunning. Who even says thrice? And a questionable description of Jez's eyes at best. They were more than equally blue and silver. So much more.

And such dangerous beauty framed by crackling fire. Jez's hair was another weak spot for Morgead. It was true: it crackled like a wildfire but flowed and felt as smooth as a stream when he ran his fingers through it . . .

And that last line. Jez would not like that. Would kill for that.

Morgead shook his head and a growl rumbled in his chest as he reread the poem again, troubling over the line about how no man could have her.

He didn't realize he was muttering aloud until Jez leaned down beside him and scoffed, "Writing poetry Morgy?"

Morgead twitched as her warm breath tickled his cheek and several flaming strands of her hair followed.

"Are you crazy?" he snarled, red-faced. "I wouldn't write that. It's all drivel about how beautiful your eyes are."

"My eyes . . . ?" Jez blinked and asked, "Do you think my eyes are beautiful?"

"What? I – I don't know! I'm just saying what the stupid poem says!"

"Morgead, are you blushing?"

"No!" But he was. Terribly.

"Sure, sure," Jez vaulted over the couch and snatched the poem from Morgead and scanned it quickly.

By the time she was finished, her face was red as well. From anger. Embarrassment. Outrage.

"Where did you find this?" she demanded Morgead, waving the well-creased paper in front of his nose.

"I got it from your bag," he snapped and batted away her hand.

"What were you doing in my bag?"

Morgead spluttered, "You're phone – it – there was – you got a text!"

Jez glanced at it lying on the coffee table in front of them before she growled and threw down the poem beside it and shot to her feet. Snatching up two fighting sticks from the rack, Jez threw one at Morgead who caught it easily and effortlessly twirled her own to warm up her wrists.

"Fine, whatever," she snapped. "Just get up so I can beat the tar out of you."

And then she attacked.

welp thanks for reading and i hope it entertained you. tell me what you think!