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