He looks at her from the back,
Enjoying her features
Yet not giving her freckled face
Or dainty heart a single chance.
He looks at her from the front,
Relishing in her voluptuous bosom.

A night spent with sweat and desire,
Backs scratched raw and tension relieved.

Yet still the absence of affection,
Of tenderness,
Is trapped within the broken capillaries
Of the bruise left on her neck.