Petra is a world of her own.

A bridge of broken glass
is no bridge worth crossing
With all of my heart I refuse to suffer
the tender pink bottoms of your feet
to cross any such length
Even though it spans a river of regret
and if you went forth
you could be free

Your pain would produce a lake of tears
running dark tracks on your beautiful face
that heavy mascara that is only a persona
The literature of your history cannot
be read in the paint on your eyes
Because your story is no more than hearsay
hushed word of mouth

An empty pop can glints dully
in the leaping light of tall dancing flames
from the line of thick lighter fluid
you sprayed between us out of spite
The river water flows sluggishly below us
like deep cobalt tinted dish soap
where it waits for the fire to make quick work
to swallow us both