my hot breath
kept the
cold windows
moist
as the inside of a ribcage.

you were on the radio
most days
you played old love songs
a broadcast to no where

i kept the motor running at night
nothing careful, nothing tentative
about that constant hum.

we ate Vietnamese food
in the suburb where I grew up
and waited for the panic to stop

it was dawn when you finally came round,
a blue car with the music
turned up

across the road I saw
the colour of our shadows
turn to white.