Dead Romance at 36

The scent of your lotion clung to my arm

as I took the long way home,

making me think

of when you playfully pressed yourself

against me in a flirtatious manner.

I sat there in shy silence and smiled,

thinking about what to say

or if I should put my arm around you

in hopes that you’d lay your head

on my shoulder.

Nothing.

Maybe I just don’t know how to be romantic

anymore.

Maybe what little fire I had left

has been snuffed.

Maybe the boy who was once overfull

with love to give

has become an almost-empty man,

desperately searching

for a few remaining drops of passion

before they too seep through the cracks

and evaporate .

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