Marks of Love

The slap of an open palm upon a silken thigh
The mumbled whisper of a lover's secret sigh
A bite mark on the shoulder fading to purple rose
A parallel path of torn and tattered clothes
Ankles locked so tight that the legs begin to cramp
Bodies pouring sweat, making the sheets cool and damp
Bedframes' lusty creaking, talking to the night
Others remaining silent in contented respite
Guttering candles shining through empty glasses on a table
Glistening bodies sprawled upon a cloak of softest sable
Heartbeats gone raging now return to normal pace
Peaceful exhaustion eases the lines on many a face
Millions making love at almost every hour
The markings of love holding their own secret power