Treacly

People trudge on
Living their lives,
Trains shudder past
Carrying more,
To other destinations.
Congress grass in tattered clumps,
White-washed walls and creeping ivy,
Two steel grey rails
That seek to guide me
Slide on by
In gooey motion.
A fan turns slowly
Through treacle-like air
And it washes by me
Like a viscous dream
All because you kissed me last night.