May I have your opinions on how this poem's coming along?

Question

Thanks

The Next Stop

As we approached,

they became more than just shapes

shifting and gliding on a wet lit street,

beneath a silver stretched sky.

I stayed in the outside seat, my moldy bag beside me,

waiting for people to pass me by.

The tall ones slithered into their places,

pin straight strands tracing the faces and figures

of suburban youth.

Stocky ones found their spots,

And plump, matronly ones did their inspections

before settling down.

I was forced to the window

when an hourglass approached,

my pile of mold swiftly swathed in perfume.

I tried to tell myself that we’re all just shapes,

colors and contours moving like fleshy sieves across the transom of the world,

and that beauty was perhaps applicable to something else-

Maybe a lucid cameo in the glass, beneath the incandescent shower

of a lamp,

with a draped pearl necklace of strung bridge lights.

Answer 1

It reads more like the first paragraph of chapter 2 in a book, rather than reading poetically.

Answer 2

Sends me a very mixed message, and I have no cohesive feeling for your intent or message, sorry. (and I don't think I would like any message that focuses on mold, either)