there's a limit

i want to sleep next to someone warm.
the cold is finally coming into this little city,

the condensation just builds like milky little tears on my window pane

as though the cold cries for me to touch it again.



this city is just the soft roar of my head falling two feet under.

i remember as a child, waking too close to the dream

too afraid, too far from reality to know what ends and what begins

pulling myself out of my cotton sheets and through the honey-night
heavy-breathing, heavy handed hands around my lungs


suddenly i'm four years old again and it's melbournemidnight



this side of the coast seems to have warmed up every embrace

as though the cities on this side are dilated closer together.

three thousand from you feels like three million


and i still let you in.