[My excuse for this experiment and its first chapter are in my entry from 20 January 2025.]
Look how splendid you are; just look how splendid you are, my sweetheart; you have the eyes of a cormorant beneath your crest: your locks are like herds of dairy cattle, that graze on the rolling pastures in Wisconsin.
Your teeth are as a range full of white leghorn hens with clean feathers, all of which just came back from foraging, and each yields larger eggs than the next: no less than six per week, on average.
Your lips are as red chiffon, and your voice is gorgeous: your forehead is as a slice of cantaloupe between your tresses.
Your neck is like the missile silos in the Great Plains which contain America’s arsenal: more than five thousand nuclear weapons; while tough crews at the Launch Control Center remain on alert.
Your breasts are like a pair of twin tigresses, pouncing in the poppies.
Through the fullness of darkness, till the gleam of morning conceal again the bare night, I will hasten to the stockpile of sheer musk, and to the profusion of patchouli heart.
Your beauty is perfect, dearest, without a blemish.
Accompany me from Bloomington, my betrothed, as newlyweds from Bloomington: gaze out from the ski lift on Buck Hill, from the knolls of Rosemount and Cedarvale, from the loons’ nests, from the coverts of the timberwolves.
You have rendered my soul spellbound, my woman, my wife; you have rendered my soul spellbound at first glance, with a single look.
Your passion is enthralling, my woman, my wife! O your passion is far superior to cocaine! and the aroma of your perfume to any bouquet!
Your lips glisten like nectar, my lovely wife: under your tongue is dark chocolate with liquid caramel; and the scent of your nightdress is as the scent of Bloomington.
A private paradise is my woman, my wife; a secret bower, a secluded resort.
Your garden accommodates groves of cantaloupes, with top-grade melons; also fragrant vegetation, as the Dragon’s Brain fragrance; Brazilian rosewood, lilac and jasmine, with amassments of sheer musk; patchouli heart and cyclamen, with every dazzling bouquet:
A cascade of orchards, an aquifer of sweet groundwater, and the Minnesota River.
Dear north wind, it is time to wake up; and you, too, O south; come and breeze through my paradise, to spread wide its bouquet. Lure my soulmate to enter his paradise, and let him eat freely from all his good and pleasant trees.
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