You call all the girls you mess around with "sunshine,"
but none of them light your dark spaces,
your loneliest places.
I'm there at one in the afternoon
with you and your flat tire
and then at three in the morning
with you and your damned
"i love her's,"
your groggy, slurred words
about a girl from the bar
who you won't remember
and you thank me in the morning
when I bring you water
and all you ever call me
is a friend