Wounded Sigh

An envelope of pink that she had kissed sometime before, her perfume lingered still, earthy reminders of last evening's tryst; lay, unexpected, on his windowsill. It's blatant presence flamed by dawn's warm rays in contrast to the cold gray empty bed which hours before the two had set ablaze with wild abandoned passion, no words said, except for those of love and evermore. A note, in hasty hand, on hotel pad "That was really fun. You scored a four, neither the worst nor best I ever had." A painful, wounded sigh disguised his rage when hence he read the words upon that page.