She can't pretend
she is not hurting
and
its been since god knows when
Sunlight is a harsh tormenter
yet
darkness offers no relief

It isn't like her to demand attention
or
announce her every need
but
nothing about this siege of pain
makes any sense
and
she needs
your kind of comfort

You could fill every corner
of her room
with silver roses
amass
golden bowls of Japanese peonies

If you drafted delicious
messages of sensual promises
and
even sang
"you are my sunshine"
in that dreadful monotone
that never fails
to make her laugh aloud

She would still need
your kind of comfort
and
that is something
you cannot give to her