twixt thy wavy lines

qu'ry this: a chivalrous charlatan, I dareth feign to pen thy prop'r aspect? aye, f'r thy legitimate contours art yet ov'rwhelmingly stagg'ring to the gazeth and if beheld by the ingraft m'rtal, thus, wouldst rend'r those folk stunn'd to reticence … such provocative p'rfection f'r a prop'r prose pedestal doth now standeth thy outlines … if 't only the ink of mine own quill flow'd with the langu'rous liquidity of thy libidinous limbs - w'rds danceth off the wit at but a glance of thy exquisite epid'rmal embodiment w'rds liketh touch, tickleth, tease, tempteth … coequal the wisest of w'rdsmiths wouldst strain to holdeth nigh and effectual, the phrasing of the diaphanous d'rmal dialogue that elucidates the sultry "esses" yond thy shadow paints on the walls and flo'rs … only those bless'd as i, without pure sight of the eye, art accomplish'd enough to appropriate a competency of fair and f'rm'd appreciation and charact'rization of the voluptuous p'rtions that composeth thy physique … those such as i w're b'rn to the burden of the darkness, but also bless'd to the bearing of the tactile and touchable - mine own pen is the palm, the fing'rtip, the soft application of skin-to-skin contact, the int'rpretation of v'ry tiny ‘lectrical impulses from ev'rything integumentary and the und'rstanding of all that keen inf'rmation being convey'd to the brain … o beg, my love - alloweth me readeth thee anon, alloweth me putteth tactile "pen" to the pages of mine own soul and psyche, alloweth me writeth a st'ry th're upon thee, alloweth me knoweth with mine own fing'rs and carpus the wond'rful w'rds that describeth thee in all thy immaculate, sublime consummation, alloweth me abs'rb the text of thy curv'd and faultless f'rm, and lighteth the darkness of mine own blind w'rld … transf'rm this beshrew into mine own blessing, alloweth me beholdeth thee as nay oth'r ev'r shall - as a st'ry, as a biography, book, tale, aye, as an adventure … without end.