Her syllogisms repose trust in her adept beleaguering of unworthy opponents. Constantly in a state of lassitude for this desultory, inure world of the insouciant youth which dwells upon it's cathartic terrain, she engages not in lachrymose nor is she crestfallen for the hope of romance and it's everlasting ineffability. She is a fugacious moment of frisson embodied in a human form; a juxtaposition of the serendipitous moments that ever constantly come one after the other in a fickle wheel of steep highs and deep lows. All her life, this girl will lilt through the crossroads of her obstacles and show the world the efflorescence of her beauty. Hush don't speak lest you miss hearing the mellifluous music of her voice of fail to hear the lagniappe that is her name. She is the cynosure of human attention, the goddess and we are but her humble servants. She is innocence most rare, love most coveted. She is infinite. She is peace.
if you were drawn to this text due to the title and if the word "callipygous" sounded to you as something that denoted a very romantic form of beauty (perhaps white slanted shutters in a small french bungalow overlooking the cote d' zure) then you're right about the beauty part not just of a very romantic French setting type. It's actual definition is *Having beautifully proportioned buttocks*-- in short, someone found a very Shakesperean word for bubble ****.