scribbles

sounds to write to

 

and it was just putting pen to paper,

that was the hardest.

but its because i want to be good,

sometimes for me,

and sometimes for you.

                

but the words don’t come easily,

and my write hand trembles,

the pen in my hand, so unfamiliar

an attachment

not an extension

 

because i don’t like to disappoint

the ink doesn’t kiss the lines on the page

and the words don’t dance

because there is no music

to my thoughts

 

but then there you are

the symphony that floods my head

 then all i can do is listen

i’m drunk on your rhythm

please give me more.

 

because my thoughts can  hear you now

and my words do the tango across the page

and the ink stains the paper

like smeared lipstick on lips

that have been kissed