Between the Wavy Lines - Non-Shakespearean

ask yourself this: do I, a romantic fool, dare pretend to write of your perfect shape? oh yes, I do … I must! for your unadorned contours are overwhelmingly staggering to the naked eye, and if observed by the average person this way your stark beauty would stun them into silence … such enticing perfection on which to base a written work stands in all its glory before me - if only the ink of my own pen flowed with the unhurried, fluid motion of your seductive limbs … words spring (like a hungry jackal) from the mind at just a glance of your exquisitely opalescent skin - words like touch, tickle, tease and tempt … even the wisest of writers would struggle to find the right words and clear phrases that competently describe what your body speaks, and the sultry curves that your shadow paints on the walls and floors … only those who are blind as I am with no VISUAL eyesight are discerning enough in other ways to gain abilities of fair and formed appreciation and characterization of the voluptuous elements that makeup your physique … those who are blind as I am were born into darkness, aye but we are yet blessed with a highly developed "vision" of feel and touch - the tactile pen I use is my palm - my fingertips ... the soft and tender application of skin-to-skin contact … the interpretation of very minute electrical impulses from everything that I use to feel with, and the keen understanding of all that precise sensory information being conveyed to the brain … let me read you now - let me put my “pen" to the pages of my soul and psyche … let me write a story there upon you let me know, with my fingers and palms the wonderful words that describe you in all your immaculate and sublime perfection … let me absorb the text of your curved form and light the darkness of my blind world … transform this curse of mine into a blessing … let me behold you as no one else ever shall - as an epic of unequaled artistry, an alluring tale ... without end.