Where it all began / by 3.1

London.

I feel that rumble coursing through my veins;
those trains like hot blood
from my feet to my fingertips.

Suspended in time on the platform
but the rush of air not fading
and the smell of brakes peppering the taste.

The comforting sound
(high-pitched and gentle)
of sweet electric power
flowing through motor alternators.

The rattle and whine of the train's lungs
gasping for breath through its main line pipe.

Oh – familiar tungsten glow!

You make those colours and hues so easy on the eyes.