Creating a what if

Curls.
A twisted tower of soft ivory ringlets inviting every finger of any human hand to put it's sensory capabilities to work.
Smile.
A slightly parted sea of shimmering pink iridescence singing the sultry song of the siren without uttering any actual sound.
An iris, make it a double.
Infectious invitations into a periwinkle dusk with a passionate forever sure to shine in the sworn horizon.
Her name.
A fact unknown, untold, and given her enthralling essence, a moniker so unimportant.
Oh beautiful stranger. Oh gorgeous mystery.
My arm for a touch, my leg for only a moment of such company.
Magic.
A disappearing act, showcasing only her ability to escape the gaze of all that stare.
How I loved her.
Sadly she felt it none.