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 ****** "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