Comfort me with apples; for I am sick of love
(((span class="indent3"/))) — Song of Solomon
scent of myrrh on the handles
when oil is in the lock
silken is his mouth
when he is hard upon me
young heart, green bed,
his fingers are in the stream
he eats of the bitter honey
the sweetness of cherry
sacrament of the blood
and of its winding
sacrament of arrival
and of its binding
expert in earth, eager in flesh
he falls upon me and feasts
the watchmen have not seen him
nor the owl in her nest
his darkness at noon
among the white buildings
a hand that was stone
builds the inner temple
sacrament of what is written
on the table of the heart
blueness of the wound
where he has placed his kiss