I watched a couple
kissing on a train
and I felt my heart melt
and drip out into the cold
polystyrene cup of coffee
sitting in front of me.
Oh how the world seems
to bend and fragment
on trains.
But, cocooned in my
little shroud, I felt
your hands reach out
from across the distances,
pressing up against the
small of my back.
Then moving through
my chest, avoiding
my spine and the whole
mess of muscle and mucus,
like hands dipped in
warm water,
down into the cup
to retrieve my heart,
wring it out and place it
back at its warm centre.
Gently patting it down,
as if to say,
“There, there.
You can hold out
a little longer yet.”
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
I always write when I’m on public transport. I think being trapped in a box, stiflingly packed with such a strange transverse section of humanity is one of the most forcibly inspiring things. I like your poem a lot. You really got something there.
Not the same vein really, but here’s one I wrote about being on a bus to work.
http://somniloquy-soliloquy.blogspot.com/2008/08/riding-bus-to-work.html
Quite true.
Thanks for reading it.
Glad you liked.
damn ben, if you’re like 20 yrs old writing stuff like this, by the time you’re in your thirties, and forties; you’ll be untouchable. this is brill. I love it.
kim
Thanks Kim.
You’re always so generous with your praise.