Petra patrolled the perimeter,
one eye to the periphery,
preferring to preempt
any perilous perfidy.
Periodically he would stop to
peruse the periodicals,
perhaps he liked smelling the perfume.
Perhaps it was a memory
that would percolate up, a period lost
beyond the parapets.
A paramour taking up a large proportion
of a parceled hear.
Still the scent permeated his panorama,
looking out parched, wishing for that parasol
to provide the perfect excuse for a parley.
Occasionally a paroxysm of parody
he had participated in would make him wince,
wishing, wishing for a particular participation
from his paramour.
Still, he looked beyond the parapet
saying perhaps.