Maria

You whisper love, on throwaway 'phones, your ravaged face a moon, you wear a hooded cowl, like saints hide their bones, it massages your soul, your hands like pearl doves, a lifetime learning to moan, fly to those who give, luminous as a snowy owl, above the hunting zones, you search to earn a crust, is that why you glove, linen and eau de cologne, when men need a shove, what are the sacred vowels, when you pray alone, far beyond the police sirens, your star on its own.