i read and read the song of songs
swear to god.
let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine
because of the savor of thy good ointments, thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee
a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me, he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts
as the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. i sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
he brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love
stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for i am sick of love
his left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me
i charge ye, o daughters of jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye not stir up, nor awake my love till he please
and on and on i keep reading. it is perfect, and shakespeare and the brownings and penthouse forum, they all put together have nothing on the song of songs. go read it, if you don't believe me.
and i hear an old song, holly holy, and for the first time i realize he says holly holy eyes, dream of only me
and i hear another song in my head, a lyric that sums things up in one brilliant simple sentence
and i live my life, in his absence. a houseful of people today, nothing i like more. my boy, one of my extra boys, a bunch of other boys, my favorite young lady ever, and my friend and her kids, too.
and i work. i dont always work, but today i worked, i was productive. and i talk to friends on the phone, and i facebook, and i watch a little tiny bit of tv (brady bunch), and i read a speck - just a few pages from the hundred secret senses - open that book to any page, and it's magic.
i shower and cook and clean and fret some and laugh some and sing some and plan some and then i sit down, when it's quiet
and i read song of songs, again
and i wonder, who wrote it? how did they know how i would feel today? and how did i never feel this before?
and i sing and growl and wait and hope and ponder and write and daydream and nightdream and try a walk, but its too cold out, it cant be done.
so i read
thy lips, o my love, drop as the honeycomb, honey and milk are under thy tongue, and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of lebanon