it’s 3 in the morn…and i am alone…in the past there were wives…lovers…drinks in communion at the neighborhood tap…those days are gone…they left with youth…

wanting someone to roll-over next to…under covers…a laugh…some snores…rhythms rolling ’round with a woman found years…an’ years…ago…who reaches out too…with naked arms…naked arms…

wanting to call…needing to hear that whiskey voice…wandering if she wants…if she wants…or have fears cast those desires to dust…forfeiting love…turning away from romance…where is truth…where is truth…

this night-time hour…darkness….it will pass onto another day…a walk…prayer…talking to myself…about her…about her…revealing all out loud to blank walls…a typewriter…telling the story once again…once again…

it’s 3 in the morn…and i am alone…