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In plain words
Your breasts split the bodice laced across slopes gone damp in an instant, press against the roots of your arms, and shine like two pitchers of gold. Kāma took their measure, thought, "this much will hold it from snapping," and bound the narrow tip of your waist three times over, O Devi — those three folds, tied as if with lavalī vines.
Close to the Sanskrit
Your two breasts, bursting the bodice fitted upon their at-once-perspiring slopes, grazing the roots of the arms, having the sheen of golden pitchers — by the body-born one (Kāma), who took their measure, [thinking] "this is enough to protect [it] from breaking," the tip of your waist, O Devi, was bound threefold — the three folds — as if with lavalī creepers.