Song of Songs 8:1-4

I wish you were like my brother who fed at my mother’s breasts. If I found you outside, I would kiss you, and no one would look down on me. I would lead you and bring you to my mother’s house; she is the one who taught me. I would give you a drink of spiced wine from my pomegranates. My lover’s left hand is under my head, and his right arm holds me tight. Women of Jerusalem, promise not to awaken or excite my feelings of love until it is ready.

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