Notes, notes, notes, and write.
Ink twists and turns but nothing jumps tonight.
Stare at white and start a fight.
Steady wrists, but nervous eyes
lead a single skinny stick
of lunatic lead and frenzied scratches.
pencils smoke, but they aren't matches.

Hanging heads and wishful mouths.
Kiss me a secret, I long for your song
to tease me a taste of eloquent tongue.
Sitting so dry, I sigh and exhale
with lonely lips that promised me poems.