His smell was driving her wild-
she wanted to 
rip off his clothes
and
bury herself
in his sickenly sweet
wax-like flesh.
But with more restraint
than necessary
she stopped with a dignifying glare
and 
glanced casually
at where he lay recumbent
looking with closed eyes
back up at her.
The sight of him drove her wild
and she allowed herself
one touch
but only one touch.
Pressing her pinky 
into his pale, near bloodless face
he 
had no reaction
to her ministrations.
Not even his skin 
responded-
her fingerprint
was still imprinted 
upon his flawless skin,
an ashen mark of her territory.
She
allowed herself 
one giggle
before lightly dancing her fingertips
down his chin,
over his neck,
and to where his heart
had lain
just hours before
beating underneath his rib cage.
It had been
essential
for her to stop
his heart from beating
in order to
prove that it beat only
for her.
Indeed
her point had been proven
just like she had
proven it 
many times before,
she
the living,
loving her boys,
the dead.
Lover of the dead.
She smiled at the phrase
and,
with one more look
at the man of wax
beneath her,
she 
brought her hand back
up to his neck
and with two fingers
placed two more marks
as a reminder
that 
he was hers.