Petra

Your star is coming home, besides a police light, in gardens, you lie prone, whisper your love, on throwaway nights, your ravaged face a moon, like saints parade their bones, a song gets you tight, makes you drink alone, alcoves shine with doves, a learned moan is cried, you pray to those above, fresh linen and eau de cologne, always makes them sigh, it brings more scope, you are not that good, millions live and die, some without a roof, luminous as a frozen stone, you stand just to the side, far beyond the credit zones, they all know why.