Oleander
Taylor Hunt
They sat on the roof getting high.
They lay exposed, out in the open.
The wind moved over their bodies, making them cool.
Their arms almost touching; they were so close.
Their gazes fell on one single point:
The sky above them was silent, blue, and clear.
Now they lay under sheets that are clear.
No longer are they on the roof up high.
Never again can their eyes focus on one point.
Their coffins rest above ground, lids open.
Soon they will be underground, their coffins will be closed.
Their bodies lay hidden, underground, cool.
Once upon a time, everyone knew them.
They had no worries; their minds were clear.
While she read her books, he got high.
Their minds were always open,
But life had no point.
She saw him once;.
She thought he was cool.
The way he smoked out in the open.
He knew who he was; he made it devilishly clear.
He made her feel alive again; he lifted her up high.
Their eyes focused solely on one point.
They lay exposed on the roof way up high.
They let the wind keep their bodies cool.
The clear breeze blew through the grass where they lay close.
They grew close.