Oh, that he would kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine…

My rabbi used to tell us that the Song of Songs wasn’t really about sex or even romantic love, but about God’s love for Israel. The Christian interpretation is that it’s about Christ’s love for the Church.

Yeah, right.

O loved one, delectable maiden!
You are stately as a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters.
I say I will climb the palm tree, and lay hold of its branches,
Oh, may your breasts be like clusters of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples,
And your kisses like the best wine that goes down smoothly,
Gliding over lips and teeth…

One glance at any of these verses, and even the dumbest kid in Bible class can see that it’s all about human love and lust, described in graphic, albeit poetic detail.

I slept, but my heart was awake. Hark! My beloved is knocking.
“Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one:
for my head is wet with dew, my locks with the crops of the night.”

You didn’t know that the Bible had an erotica section did you? Hey, you gotta love it when your beloved’s head is wet with dew.

The Song of Songs was supposedly written by King Solomon, who is said to have composed the Song while traveling in Israel’s north country to see a local village girl, whom he later carried back to Jerusalem to be one of his 1000 wives. Parts of it are often read at Passover.

Solomon also supposedly penned Ecclesiastes, the Fundies’ Favorite, probably a few gallons of wine after seeing one of his scarier-looking brides. Since the Song comes after Ecclesiastes, maybe there’s hope for the future, like after their Apocalypse, we all get to engage in passionate, virtually guilt-free sex like they do in the Song of Songs. No, it wouldn’t make all our wars in the Middle East worthwhile, but it would be something…

Make haste, my beloved, and be like a gazelle
Or a young stag upon the mountains of spices…

That’s my cue to make haste to my beloved, my horny stag, who fortunately doesn’t have to bound across a mountain of spices to get to me, or he’d get a hernia.