of songs that were meant for paper

I sat on a street corner and thought about singing.
A performer, I am not, yet my fingers were dancing as if
they had the power of woodwind beneath them.
So I mouthed the words that reminded me of you
while the feet walked by, never knowing they just passed perfection.
When I reached the end of the dictionary
I realized that simple words do not make music.
so I called you poetry, instead.