Chavruta

Beloved, tonight we gloss
our mouths in Aramaic, wet
palates sweet with sugya,
thumbs tracing letter
and thigh—shin, pey, tav—
scripture skims skin,
mouth fluent beneath the argument:
a pilpul pressed
tongue-deep in mitzvot,
pliant halakha
of heat, inked hips
writhing responsa.

My lips shape blessings
into every syllable of you,
each phrase traced
with the slow sincerity
of tevah, the turning
return of teshuvah—
we unroll together,
meaning spilling
beyond the margins.

Na'aseh, we will do—
your hips already answering
questions I haven't asked,
V'nishma, we will hear
how my mouth knew
to find this blessing
before my mind could name it,
the way revelation
always comes after
the body says yes.

My hands
open new commentary
as you counter, quick—
your laughter a rebuttal
against my wandering thumb,
your hip insists
on a different footnote.
We argue with touch,
my tongue posing questions
you refuse to answer plainly—
instead, you return
with a tease of your own,
until meaning leaps
from your lips to mine—
and the proof is always in your reply.

Our study argues explicit:
mouth debates manuscript,
we chant ourselves
into contradiction,
commandments bend
under our questioning,
gates swing wide
for blessings that refuse
to be written down.