Marks Of Favor

Angry red lines mar the smooth surface,
The only color in an expanse of pale skin;
Where her nails bit too hard the blood bubbles up,
A copper flavored spring of deep crimson.
Four rivers flow south of half-moon punctures,
A landscape feature that spans down his strong back;
Salty sweat stings as it penetrates the wounds,
A pleasurable pain brings a smile to his face:
These are not scratch marks,
These are marks of favor.