my lungs whispered and asked the smoke
to the sound of your slurred voice
singing off key
to whatever song came on the radio.
i'm sure the stars looked down on us
as we laughed and ran about that dying meadow
in the ides of october.
there's something bordering on nostalgia
i feel for that scuffed leather jacket
you always wear.
but maybe it's just dreaming.
and when we finally started back home
we could have died
and for once in our lives
it would have been with smiles on our faces.
i wonder what the coroner would have