Some people have trouble with the Song of Solomon
because of all the jewel-like thighs.
Their toes curl up and their juices thalamine
surge right up to the backs of their eyes.
But my objection to this brief little book
is not the lithe black keeper of the king's vineyard,
nor even disappointment about mandrake-root,
but the boost to the price of spikenard.
Not to mention pomegranates. Two pounds each!
The trouble is that, since Solomon praised it,
every little dog thinks that his little bitch
will adopt the position as soon as she tastes it.
Oh man! Nasty. Think I'll visit Keiran and ask what he knows about Fionn.
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