Between the 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 electrical
Impulses from ev'rything integumentary,
And the und'rstanding of all that keen
Inf'rmation being convey'd to the brain. 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 palms
The wond'rful w'rds that describeth thee in all
Thy immaculate, sublime consummation,
Alloweth me abs'rb the text of thy curve'd 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, biography, adventure, book, a tale ...
Without end.
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