The Bridegroom Rejoices in the Fragrance of His Beloved
My bride is as a fragrant grove,
Her savor is the salt of love.
The scented braid beside her ear
Loosens my knees when I draw near.
Beneath her tongue lies liquid silk;
Her breath, a waft of honeyed milk.
The scent of each breast is risen yeast,
Her navel, wine, a heady feast.
Under her arms, amongst the hairs,
Lies memory of foxes’ lairs.
Syrups glisten her lips below,
There is, I swear, no sweeter flow.
And best of all, between her knees,
The faintest tang of ripened cheese.
Randel McCraw Helms retired from the English Department at Arizona State University in 2007, having taught classes in the Romantic poets, the Bible as Literature and contemporary literature there for thirty years. He is the author of five books of literary criticism, including “Tolkien’s World,” “Who Wrote the Gospels?” and “Gospel Fictions.”
Making poems is his lifelong avocation, and now he has time to write them as much as he wants. He is preparing a book of poems to be entitled “Matters of Life and Death.”