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.