March 23, 2019
by Steve J. Burkett (author's profile)
This post is in reply to comments on:  Diary thumbnail
(Jan. 14, 2019)



my coffee always gets cold
before I am able to tell
how much I need her
strength on wet winter
nights when the darkness is
clouding my mind fueling a
loneliness deep inside my old
body causing a pain in that
part of the heart where I
hold own to every memory
we've ever shared like the
taste of a condemned man's last
meal where I still hold
her heart against mine again
the coffee is cold as I
cannot find the word to
tell her how many ways
I love her

Steve Burkett

I do not have
the silver spurs
I spent the dollar
and the dime
on more summer wine
I drink the wine
and stare at the door
waiting for your return

Steve Burkett

Not even 4 AM yet. It seems like I've been up for hours listening to the radio, restless, mind racing, thinking about which way to go at the next crossroad or maybe just jump at the next exit. Can anyone tell me where the hell am I?


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