Song of Songs 8:1-4

I wish you’d been my twin brother, sharing with me the breasts of my mother, Playing outside in the street, kissing in plain view of everyone, and no one thinking anything of it. I’d take you by the hand and bring you home where I was raised by my mother. You’d drink my wine and kiss my cheeks. Imagine! His left hand cradling my head, his right arm around my waist! Oh, let me warn you, sisters in Jerusalem: Don’t excite love, don’t stir it up, until the time is ripe—and you’re ready.