In the real dark night of the soul it is always three o' clock in the morning, day after day.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald
Three o'clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can't sleep, I am so happy.
—Anton Chekhov
Three O'Clock In The Morning
I like my coffee black,
my whiskey on the rocks,
wine chilled in a flat bottom glass—
the way they serve it in Italy.
I like my woman in ecstasy,
moaning my name out loud.
My eggs, scrambled,
moist but not runny.
I like my sheets and towels
made of cotton, sun dried on a line.
I like walking barefoot in the ocean,
the waves lapping at my thighs.
My music, mostly bluesy and hot—
sometimes soft and mellow.
I like the darkness of the new moon,
stars shooting across the black face of god.
I like life coming at me full tilt,
with no time to plan or ponder.
When I wake at three o'clock in the morning,
I like to write poetry—Just as I am doing right now.
Photo Credit : Lamppost Willie-Three O'clock In The Morning