Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are
even shorn, which came up from the washing.
You should not lift your eyes because you might see a woman.
(a pious rule of Yosef Caro)
Do not converse excessively with a woman.
Let her alone; for her soul is bitter within her.
My soul desired the shelter of thy hand,
to know every mystery of thy secret.
The stacte is simply the sap that drips from balsam trees
Ewe follows ewe; a daughter's acts like those of her mother.
And thou mourn at last, when thy flesh and thy body are consumed.
She was one of those girls who automatically check their hair when they see a motorcyclist. The palisade of her teeth could advertise pasteurized milk. Out of a hundred chosen at random she would not hit the first twenty. And still there was something in her face, something special - a desire to learn? She waived her hand from a bus stop and asked for a ride. As if knowing that I was hungry, she offered dinner in her apartment. I took a shower and she waited for me in the door of her bedroom. I shook my head: I was not ready -- she said that she was a virgin and that she was not afraid. She took my hand and we stepped into the darkness of her room. That night reminded me of a motorcycle race: she laughed and cried, her teeth ground and tore my skin. And she had been a virgin. I got up at dawn, I wanted to go out and forget. An old-fashioned ad for pasteurized milk stopped me near the door: a young woman checked her hair, smiling to a motorcyclist. White smile in the black frame. And sadness in the corners of the eyes. My lips became sour. I cast a look back. Her eyes were open. Still not afraid? She slowly turned her head: I already have it. From birth. She throws the blanket aside. Forget about your motorcycle. You are mine.