The wealth of Timna is copper, and turquoise, blue as heaven. But no blue was ever as deep as his eyes, no copper burnished brighter than his skin: my wild Israelite boy, my sweetest downfall.

Call me Timna: the Bible gives me no other name.

He courted me with riddles. Wound together in our bed, I wheedled the answers out of him.

When the stars came falling, like sparks from the tails of foxes running across the sky, what could I do but burn?

A riddle: what is sweeter than honey? What is crueler than a lion?

The answer: love.