You are the image of perfection.

With every touch,

I fear that you,
Will disappear,
Beneath the soft caress,
Of my fingertips;
A mere figment of my imagination,
Brought to life by the parasitic loneliness,
That is devouring my very heart and soul.
But then you kiss me,
And there is warmth upon my lips,
Coursing through my veins,
Swelling in my chest,
And it is real.
It is so very,
Undeniably real.
And I can touch you.
I can fit my hand in yours,
Intertwine our fingers,
Lean up and kiss your cheek,
And watch as your eyes flutter closed.
I can wrap my arms around you,
Holding you close,
Holding you tight,
Feeling your heat,
As it gently caresses my very essence,
Resting my head upon your shoulder,
And smiling as my heart melts.