Song of Songs 5:1, 5, 13

I have gathered from your heart, my equal, my bride, I have gathered from my garden all my sacred spices—even my myrrh. I have tasted and enjoyed my wine within you. I have tasted with pleasure my pure milk, my honeycomb, which you yield to me. I delight in gathering my sacred spice, all the fruits of my life I have gathered from within you, my paradise garden. Come, all my friends— feast upon my bride, all you revelers of my palace. Feast on her, my lovers! Drink and drink, and drink again, until you can take no more. Drink the wine of her love. Take all you desire, you priests. My life within her will become your feast.

My spirit arose to open for more of his touch. As I surrendered to him, I began to sense his fragrance— the fragrance of his suffering love! It was the sense of myrrh flowing all through me!

Looking at his gentle face, I see such fullness of emotion. Like a lovely garden where fragrant spices grow — what a man! No one speaks words so anointed as this one — words that both pierce and heal, words like lilies dripping with myrrh.

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