Known I am as 

Solomon the Wise.

My words of ruby,

Diamond and pearl are

Borne by caravans

Of wind to the four

Corners of the earth.

My wit is a spreading

Fan of peacock

Feathers that cools

The heaving breast


Of my beloved.

A soothing balm

Is my every deed

That heals all wounds.

O my bronze-skinned bride,

The Queen of Sheba

From Ethiopia,

She knows that pure

Milk and honey flow

From my royal lips.

Her alluring breath


Is the commingled

Subtle scent of rare

Perfumes distilled

In Old Arabia.

Her charms are heady

With all the precious

Herbs and spices

From the exotic

Land of Brahmins

And long-haired mystics.

Glittering her eyes


Are the flaming red 

Star, Aldebaran.

Tinkling tiny bells

Are her smiles and

The twangs of zithers

Plucked by masterly

Fingers. O her laughter

Is a tryst of cymbals,

The rolling thunder

Of African drums.

O her mere presence 


Is the velvety

Touch of dew-kissed

Petals of dawn.

She caresses like

The lapping waters

Of the Blue Nile

And her kiss that burns

With the searing heat

Of the Sahara’s

Golden sands at

High noon sucks my


Soul away till I

Gently fall into

A deep, blissful swoon.

I rise and worship

In the menorah-lit

Inner Sanctum, her

Holy of Holies,

Where she unveils

To me in utter

Secrecy a fire

Ritual, the Greater


Mysteries of Eve,

Whose altar is

My beloved’s

Supple nakedness.

Her feet incense I

With frankincense 

And etch her flawless 

Face in my mind’s-eye,

Bowing to no

Heathen image but

Hers, the Shining One,


The Goddess of Love,

As she anoints

My forehead with

The sacred oil

Of her epic desire.

Enter I the narrow

Wisdom gate, reclaim

My ancient birthright:

O lost lush delta,

Green virgin paradise,

Between her moist, warm thighs.


Los Angeles

Feb. 1, 2012