Jeremiah 33

The rain beats against the palace walls, like kisses, they slide softly down the iron bars, and I wish I could press their soft petals to my lips- whoever thought the day would come when I longed for water more than the touch of a woman. I think of the whore from the fig-grove; I imagine the wet beads sliding down her breasts, her thighs, the small drop of water nestling against the crevice of his lips when he puts his mouth on her nipples. But who can afford her, nowadays? She must sell blow-jobs for bread-crusts - at least I get those for free, courtesy of the king.

God tells me he will redeem His nation. He tells me brides will adorn themselves by the walls of the temple. But what good does that do them now, these men and women who would sell their children for half a shriveled fig, as Nebuchadnezzar's army holds nightly orgies outside the city walls.

"As night and day, so is my treaty with this nation". His voice rumbles like war-drums, and the passion in His kisses of thunder makes me tremble. My finger pricks at the wetness around the bars; I insert it into my lips, and my mouth is filled with the taste of iron. Lightning bounces off of moonlight, peeking in between the slats.

The rustle of metal. The key in the chain. "Your daily bread". A brown piece of mush is tossed in my direction. My wrists are wasted by these manacles. I try not to think of what I look like as I bring the bread to my mouth - would she laugh at me, the girl for whom I wanted to buy flowers? Would she recognize me?

"Redemption." I hear God whisper in my ear. His murmurings mingle with the kisses that slide down the iron bars, this rain that will quench the thirst of the soldiers, their mouths open, as the women undulate beneath them like a river, like the river my fathers once crossed, on their way into the promised land, kissing their wives and speaking of redemption, their hands clutching weapons of iron, whose taste lingers in between my lips, like the kiss of a lover, or a whore, who now lies wet beneath a grove of fig-trees, that once shaded Adam from his shame. Eve could not feel embarrassed: She was too busy deciding which fig-leaf looked best against her skin. "There is a fine difference between the different shades of green", she explained to Adam, when he complained - and from this complaint, was born prayer.

All this ritual, from just a little bit of prehistoric shopping - and they say that women don't run the universe.