Sunshine sticks to my skin and
Trickles down my back in salty splatters
While I clamber over train lines
And their splintered wood
Tickles and bites my toes

I think of Luan who,
In a small hotel room, caresses my feet
And nibbles my skin
And tells me I taste like cinnamon to him.

Hanoi--she has a habit of draping her terraces over
The edges of buildings
But here, the train is the King

Here, her terraces retreat and covet, through grimy windows, the places they could have been.
And I am so mesmerised by
The train shaped emptiness
That is taking all this s p a c e

So I follow the tracks and wait for this King
To rumble and shake the tracks in his wake
And make me move, un-lady like and rustled
To the edges where
I can watch him grumble
Past me and roar
While I envy his space
Like the terraces

Hello again Alicia,

You might find you get more feedback/critique if you post your work on the blog section. It's where most interaction and comment is directed.

One word of advice. If you post more than one poem at a time, it is only the last one that appears in full on the blog, any previous ones are archived underneath it for one month.
All your entries are kept on your profile.

A good idea also is to direct readers to you excellent blog if you keep your work there.