The Sharp Linen Scent of Austintatious Soap

But soft, what scent from yonder woman wafts?
It smells like cotton and blossom-soft soap.
Arise stout Soap and kill insidious Germs,
Which make Austin sick and pale and weak
If thou-her guard—dothn’t cleanse and scrub her hands.
Be not afraid of germs insidious
For micro scrubbers of darkest blue and white
Wilt slay bad bugs and malodors alike.
It is my Austin! O it is my wench!
O for that linen scent she doth weareth!
She speaketh yet says nothing, waving hands.
Her digits discourseth, I wilt answer them.
I am too bold, like the smell of her soap.
Two of the fairest scents made up of esters,
Having cleansed her hands, doth entreat my nose
To wrinkle at their strong and socky scent.
What if her hands wert there, touching my face?
The softness of her palm wouldst shame dryer sheets
As linen soap doth shame a bar of Dove.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were linen soap on that hand
That I might linger—like that scent—ever.

As for your second point, I wish I could be there to give you a massage and share tea and Butterfingers. As teleportation is not yet possible, I figured that answering the challenge of point one was the only way for me help solve point two. I love you Always and hope you enjoyed my little bit of word corruption. ((<3<3)),
Rebecca,
Pr.17:17 Always