exquisite specificity

I love you with exquisite specificity.
All your sharpness is smooth curves,
presenting to the world the harmlessness
you would have it deserve. A touch
of pity, only just. Cutting edge
and points rotated inwardly
to play in light and bite
no hand, except and only
winningly. Such bite
is quite a prize I feel
I've won a time or two;
I thank divinity. But
really it's just you
in perpetuity, and
spinning me.