The damp chill of the night settles heavily over the city. A thick dew rests upon the hair and garments of anyone walking the silent streets. Inside a dark bedchamber, a woman lies awake near the threshold. She has stripped away her daily tunic. She has bathed the dust from her feet. The thick wooden door stands between the comfort of her bed and the vulnerability of the night. A hand rattles the latch from the outside. The voice of her beloved vibrates against the timber. He begs for entrance. A fleeting hesitation paralyzes her limbs. Putting her tunic back on requires effort, and dirtying her clean feet on the cold floor demands a sacrifice of comfort. The heavy timber preserves the safety of the resting body, yet it denies the longing of the waking heart.
When she finally rises, the physical reality of her delay coats her surroundings. Her fingers grasp the handles of the lock. The wood feels slick beneath her touch. He has left flowing myrrh upon the iron and timber as a testament to his presence. The resin drips over her hands, leaving a sweet, heavy scent in the empty air. She pulls the heavy door open, yet the threshold remains vacant. The hinges swing outward to reveal only the shadowed streets. Her heart pounds against her ribs. She runs into the night. She calls his name into the cold wind, a physical sound swallowed by the stone walls of the city. The watchmen pacing the high walls do not offer assistance. They strike her and strip away her protective cloak. Seeking companionship in a broken world exacts a heavy toll; hiding in a secure room ensures a barren safety.
Gathering the women of the city around her, she refuses to let her bruised state diminish her ardor. They ask for the measure of this devotion. She answers by cataloging his physical form through the heavy materials of the ancient world. His head shines like pure gold. His legs stand like pillars of marble set upon solid bases. He is as majestic as the tall cedars growing on the high slopes of Lebanon. Love builds an architecture stronger than iron bolts and thick wooden doors. The heavy latch of the bedchamber remains slick with costly resin. A fragrant lock signifies both the beauty of a sudden invitation and the bitter consequence of a delayed response. The heavy scent of myrrh clings to the rough wood long after the visitor has stepped away into the dark.