First Date

[71degrees]

I squeezed conversation out
like empty toothpaste;
agonizing over every silence.

Her smile seemed as forced as my words,
and I couldn't make myself look her in the eyes.

The steak was bleeding raw,
and I felt I was the cow
as she made the first cut.

I love the poem but for the life of me cannot figure out what "empty toothpaste" is. Toothpaste tube, maybe. But not toothpaste.

I'd get rid of the second stanza. Doesn't add much. You're telling me things instead of showing me.

The third stanza is brilliant. I laughed. Don't change a word.

71degrees