Dear loving wife,
You have my love which does not form any meaning. So, this is my letter d' affection to this spouse of the spouse for which I hope to prove my love. You always look like a million buckaroos. You are as dazzling as a pregnant cow attired in electrical sockets. You are more beautiful than a bouquet of fossils Madam! Timepieces could not even know your age. Oh how you move with the eloquence of disintegrating fuselage. In your presence even my shadow can acquire the sensation of touch.
Your head! So precisely, fits into the smallest of diameters and portrays the most beautiful, sublime features of the twentieth century. Your face is like a perfectly shaven tennis ball that can bend even the most anorexic mirror into a sensuous state of muscular spasms. Your hair that sits upon that sweet face sends forth a sheen image of a wounded man streaming about bronze bandage gauze from the highest church steeple. I cry for the softness of your earlobes that adorn each side of your face. These succulent earlobes can make even turtles fall and the rain to stand still. May this divine pair of lobes ever flap about my neck like a thousand wooden pigeons fleeing the local sawmill. You wear your ears well honey, true to the testament of loose fitting flesh.
Your eyes! How can I help but use your eyes as a means for self-asphyxiation? They glow like naked blueberries burning in the sun as many deep and full shades of blue as a healing bruise upon an injured forelimb can show. Your eyes are like spheres of transparent glue filled with shimmering skies. Your extensive, protruding eyelashes foster my libido into a state of disbelief for Roman Catholicism. These eyelashes would certainly compel even a wayward band of masticating cod into a feverish frenzy. Your eyebrows that sit atop these eyelashes are as verdantly forested as the woodworms of my most somber dreams. Even your sweet, bountiful tears evoke a taste as memorable as honey. I love your eyes my love, especially with ketchup.
Your mouth! Is as incredibly soft as liquid being poured from an aquamarine vase of solidifying flesh. This unreachable mouth makes my head beat faster and my heart pound slower. Oh how your enormous crimson lips accent the sun! I wish to kiss these lips every third Monday of the month. I relentlessly desire your custard tongue hidden beneath to force itself out and slide in between my eyelids. And I cannot help but notice how the ocean's white foam resembles the froth of hair streaming above your lips. So madam, you wear a moustache quite well. So charmingly perfect, the perspiration on your upper lip is like a teardrop on a popsicle. Even a kitten's growl could surpass the plights of your spoken, soft voice when it exits this dainty mouth.
Your body! Oh how it inflicts me with wounds of paranoia and desire. Your body and its curvy symmetrical features are certain of my wishes. Just fighting for the liberty to touch you is nothing ever scientifically explored before. Your seduction avoids extinction. If you were a camel your humps would be esoterically bald from overuse. In your mere presence not even a battalion of lawyers could pass the New York State driving exam. I fascinate myself with your body but in your absence, I find other forms of amusement. How long must I suffer and deal with your perpetual undergarments?
Your intelligence! It can ferment meat without the need of oxygen. The expanse of your intelligence is so large no universe could ever fill. It can attain the grand summation of molecular motion at absolute zero. Your spark of intelligence can be seen in your blinking eyes and is like the glow visible from the teeth of an electrocuted axe-murderess. Even beauty and grace are perplexed in contemplating your multidimensional brilliance. May you always be as vivid and bright as your illicit hallucinations darling. Your intelligence is equal to the smoothness of a walnut shell.
My sweet woman who I may only temporarily love, I have excreted my thoughts and my desires for you in this confession. My love for you is strangely distinct. If I were to combine your blood, toes, and hair, it might not be you, but it would be enough for my basic desires.
Sincerely,
A spouse that has sacrificed his sanity
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