Inspired by the Story of Moses and Tzipporah

Your fingers were softer than lotus-petals,
the honey of your eyes stickier than a spider's web,
as I shrouded myself in their brown mesh,
softer than the silk of your breasts.

Now I am afraid to lean on the pillars of your alabaster shoulders.
Like love, the pomegranate, can not be watered with tears -
its red skins shrivel like my father's face, as I long for the days
when my fingers explored the dry lands of his cheeks.

At night, I grope for your cheeks, but you tremble
like a lotus-petal in the wind, as if my fingers smelled
of galbanum, yet I have soaked my linens in saffron,
my breasts in cinammon, and I have braided lillies in my hair.

You once told me that its ebony reminded you of the night's wind.

Now I wrap myself in the night's silence, longing for your alabaster skin.