iv. touch
touching her was something chaste,
for her fingers trailing up his skin felt like a ladybug, pitter-pattering up his arms,
like a soldier, caressing his teary-eyed lover's face for the last time,
like hot wax that burned him, yet he found himself going back to,
like a blind man, fumbling with buttons as he undoes them,
like an Aphrodite, running her hands through her hair,
like the crashing of ocean waves against a petite body,
like everything heavenly and everything deadly,
he could not resist but cosset her every time he witnessed her allure.