First of the Final

Brushing the dust off
the old white photo frame.
The speckled glass
covering the faded picture.
You didn't believe
that I'd be waiting.
When I murmured
you were my all,
standing tall,
refusing to look me in the eye.
You caressed the rose
cold on the table
between you and me.
Watching those brown shoes
kiss the floor
with every step.
Look back,
and you would have seen
the first of the final.
My tears for you.