*On the Song of Songs*
Bernard of Clairvaux
You are my subject, scraped from the womb.
Will we cross in Limbo, sad progenitor and aspiring heir?
Who will survive?
I have been scoured from your mother’s eyes
as resolutely as the tides tear their pound of continent.
You came in a blush of sheets[,]
A curious tongue fathomed her, found you between her lips[.]
Do you get me or shall I father you?
(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)