First Date

First Date

Fruit juice tastes sweeter when shared.
Slurped, passed between caressing hands
and slurped again. Better still, cross-armed
like entwined bows, lover's coat of arms.

I thank the Almighty we'd managed to land
a stall over aimless walking, frivolous talking
(in retrospect those things that took wing
between hurried lips were flawed). I remember

you pushing me a bill despite me covering
yours. We exchanged small talk like individual
cups of drinks, each tasting his life's own ironies.
The anecdotes shimmered like cupids, then vanished.
At times, your phone's light haloed you like a gaunt

angel. The juice's forced sweetness lingered; I craved
for more: a knowing glimmer that sometimes shines
between soulmates despite having crapped a bad
joke; subtle grins that whisper how the flower's
blossomed, before the straw slurps bottom.