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         There should be a poem for every girl
         with black hair and black eyes
         who's sat across the aisle on a crowded train
         and written pointless beautiful things
         in the notebook in her lap.

         I might write my name and number on a bit of paper
         Drop it on your page as I'm getting off.

         But I prefer to think it and write it than to know
         What might happen if I actually did.

         I'm sorry I've been staring. But you see
         I fall in love easily and often
         and I find more life in never-met imaginary trysts
         than the close-to imperfections of what's real.




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