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First Love
January 6, 2015
A dozen desiccated roses
lay limp
in the cracked
bloodshot red vase
between them,
broken petals sprawled
across the rumpled tablecloth.
He slouches at the table
and reaches out,
taking her hand
loosely in his.
Their conversations
drone on.
The birds, the washing
machine, the traffic; all was just
white noise,
the sound they used to
fall asleep to while tangled
in each others' arms.
Both draw out long yawns.
Then, a lazy embrace,
lips barely brushing together,
and exchange of slurred
I love yous...
Both dreaming
of a future together.
© Wajida S., Shrewsbury, MA
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I wanted to set a different tone for the topic of a "first love." Instead of a happy, cheerful tone, I hope this one comes across as almost dreary, like the love is exhausting.