when i sleep tonight
i know where i'm going.
there's this little
italian restaurant
closed, aged, and broken
shattered windows
sitting alone and neglected
in a field of broken asphalt.
it's made entirely
from my mind
exists only in the dark rain
of my dreams.
i'll be there
as always
sitting under the tree beside
waiting with my bags
around my feet
basking in the moonlight
hopeful.