When we first met, I was almost in love.
I ogled your pink lips that were engulfed by a black beard.
My eyes bulged when I saw your handsome face.
I drooled over your tall athletic frame.
Your lips curled into a grin as you asked my name.
I’ve known of you to be the strongest man in Jerusalem --
is this true? What brought a gorgeous man like you to this village?
A man who killed villainous Philistines day and night.
The Scriptures never mentioned we had the deepest conversations
and laughed and kissed, how you completely fell for me,
and how you were my almost lover.
The trees were so much taller, the green was so much greener,
and sky was bluer because of you.
The birds were always singing, manna was
so much less, and milk and honey were so much more.
I was offered silver in trade for you.
I was offered silver to find out the secret
of where your might came from. The might and strength
that threatened the world, it’s power.
You were my sweetest downfall, almost lover.
At night, after we drank the third glass of red wine,
on the purple bed, you took another glass.
You curled my hair, your caressed my cheeks,
you giggled like a little boy.
I whispered as I begged for you to tell me
where your strength lies and where you get your might.
You tugged on my hair, and your mouth zippered up.
Your eyes rolled back into your head, and you slept on a blue silk pillow.
You never finished your fourth glass of wine.
I took my shears and cut it all off.
Loc after loc. Strand after strand.
To pretend it never happened,
I snuck away and traded your hair for the silver.
I rolled my eyes back into my head
and pretended it never happened.
Did the Scriptures mention that?
Or the guilt I felt? Or the talks we had?
I got my money;
they captured you
but the Scriptures never mentioned my regret --
not even once.