public displays of affliction
affection acted out acrimoniously
arguments open for all eyes to see
brows furrowed
mouths pursed
arms crossed
the inner most indications of anger
so intimate
so much more revealing
than a peck or a nibble
so much more intruiging
as muted gestures extend
past the roar of cars
content not quite clear
but message crisp:
I fucking loathe you.