Melbourne on a winter night is crisp and beautiful.
Breath, and your air is clouds of white and pale and cloudy.
A child: pretending to smoke, but not actually
because, rather, inhaling fresh joy.
We huddle like penguins
hands in coat pockets with elegant scarves and bogan beanies.
The air is so luscious - I would really like to bathe in it and exist in it and store that very sweetness in my lungs forever.
My face feels joyous
(despite the little tears of cold)
Let us run amok in the wintertime.
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