His glittering emerald eyes

They appeared to float

Among the cerulean skies

Shivering under a puffer coat

Speaking softly, under breath

Dark alley ways after hours

Drunks and junkies on meth

Under these conditions, our love flowered

Yet a product of his place

High on his own supply

Felt time was an athlete, his empty space

Couldn’t hear his final sigh

His frail body lying among blue sheets

I couldn’t help but stare

Decayed in less than a week

Final whispers wandered away without care