Words coming home

I could write
But no particular subject appear

I should write
The need is suddenly there, appearing from nowhere

Opposite of writer's block, I should think
But just as desparate
Words tumbling around, looking for paper
Longing to be strung together
Looking for the sentences to which they belong

And not finding any

Where is it, the subject?
Lots of verbs around
Colourful adjectives
Even a pronoun!
But no subject to offer them context

They'll flutter around for a while
The words
In vain

Then they'll settle
Merely being part of the usual thoughts
Conversations
And dreams

Not gloriuous prose, stanzas or rhyme
But at least they will find use

And use in lovers' gentle talk
Isn't the worst of uses either

- - - - - - - - - -

Cross-posted from H2G2

[Listening to: These Boots Are Made for Walkin' - Nancy Sinatra (2:42)]