it haunts

Tonight

the lights are white

making the clouds passing by

look like smoked ellipses.

In a garden

on Elizabeth Street

at twilight

I thought of Copenhagen

and warehouses

and yellow painted chairs

a note scrawled on the gate

I remember you from the future.

There’s a little bar I know

on the sixth floor

you can get as drunk on you want

bum cigarettes

you’ll say

—whoever you are—

at two

I didn’t know

the lights turned off

and then you’ll kiss me.

Asking for my bed

telling me

it’s been so long

I believe you.

You—

from a dream

we’re in the car

was it danishes in Los Feliz that day

or croissants?

I can’t shake the thought

it haunts 

I shouldn’t be here.

(Photo from cdixon tumblr)