On The Tram

On the tram
the sharp tang of us all cloys,
like the smell of
flowers
mating in the Spring.

The tram trundles;
our bodies secrete sweat
into polyester mix.
Our odours mix,
our thoughts, apart.

East Croydon station.
We move together
across the concrete, and steel tracks.
The Sun blazes down upon us,
silent, together, alone.

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