Poetry in Carved Wood

Aloysius is away. It was planned so that he could help Veronika with her exploration of N'Maernthor, but still it's bittersweet to be away from one's spouse for a birthday. When Peg comes downstairs, a box a couple of feet high awaits her on a parlor table. A note that could only be for her, penned in her husband's bold hand, rests against the box. It is addressed simply, My Font...
 
Beloved Peg,
We knew I would be away for this day, your twenty-fourth birthday. Yet, I am still saddened as I write this for being unable to awaken next to you, to start the day with the sound of your breath and see the morning light give color back to your lips and skin and hair. I see beauty in every aspect of you. In your shadow and flame, your scars and the curve of your lips... the tangled, thorny places of your heart filled with love and hurt and every burning passion. All of you, I'll gladly hold with my hands and heart and come back to you every time.
I hope this gift lets you see what my heart does.
 
Now and always, your Aloysius
 
She can smell the olive wood even as she lifts the covering box. A sculpture, unmistakably of her. Sensual in every sense, the swirls and polish capturing motion, feminine form, and extravagant power. She's in mid step, mid turn, hair whipping with the vibrance of combat. Flames fill her left hand, shadows wreath her right. Clad in little more than her power and passion, this Peg is as undaunted as the real one. She has a face her husband has seen in his dreams and by his side as spellfire and shadow fill the air. With curving lips apt for curses and hard truths and loving words.
It's a love poem coaxed from fragrant wood. Her scars and beauties reflected in harmony, a view of her through the lens of her husband's heart.