300 Words

Hi.
So, I'm still in touch with my fifth-grade teacher, because she is one of the best writing teachers I've ever had. Recently, she asked me to write a 300-word story for her. So this is my first draft of one. I don't think it's very good yet, so advice would be welcomed.
(Also, about the content of the story: It is purely fictional. I am not a lesbian.)

She

She in skirts of a raw and brilliant red today, looking heady and intoxicative. She rosy and nontraditional in her assets -yet hers is a countenance to which I ascribe innumerable and unspoken beauties. Wraithlike yet fiercely sentient, there is not a whit of happenstance in her aura, but truth -striking, doubtless, hungered truth.

She of digits redoubtably finite and firm -an unseen conclusion to the layered sweep of tendons set in composition about her arms. She composed of microcosmic honesties and masterpiece -she of a figure comely, earthen as the rich, latticed herbs upon which she so often turns her focus. And my humours stir ineffably; my heart purrs.

Together, we have learned our craft, risen from crudeness to paragon -together, within this very forest, copse upon meadow, hills rich and climactic in repose upon a spacious green. The pair of us, we circle and haunt. I have always been, though, the meager, the callow, the half of bearing lean and pale and strict, but she -she comports herself with unknowable patience; she does not imprint the land, but leaves her striking stroke by dint of her characteristic softness. In our coven of two, she is at once the priestess and the goddess sworn in worship.

And must she be either blind, or immovable, or beset with troubles too deep and murky to comprehend my feeling? She does not define the implication in the coupling of our chests and hips and losses -she knows not the rage and bloodlust unfolding on my form and my sad-whittled countenance whilst the height of skyclad ritual? My impotent thirst fails to penetrate her consciousness; she lives but love she won't, and her gentle smile grows only colder to a heart gone unplacated.