Nearly Literal

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

be my Voldemortress: She-Who-Will-Always-Be-Named, a Queen with raven hair and simply gorgeous, never one to fear, rather one beloved regardless, in flowing gown of white and colors royal, an essence not at all from forces darkened, but borne of light's reflections hugging curves so exquisite. you're not quite out for blood, just some parts you(we) may wish to suck, vessels and veins, beneath flesh thirsting for (y)our delight to taste (and touch), among which is for me the -crux, of Hope- residing in your bosom: as sweet for the tongue as a heart fulfilled by love. in the intermixing of such surfaces and fluids, might we then find out how i became he-who-lived, an antibody for all of that which falls from lips. 

[just-in-case clarification of the last line: an antibody is what the body makes in response to something it perceives as harmful,  and 'what falls from lips' is indicative of what is longed for - so essentially that would make me (iA) your cure :]

[(edits: can't let you have all the fun;)]

[edits2: perfecting the metaphor]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

my Rabb, forgive me when I'm too much, she sparks all my tinder, whether or not it's enflamed enough. in all my expressions, let her find a pull towards Then, so for now we stand steady and sufficed, ameen.