Mary Magdalene

Mary Magdalene
How a woman, who escaped
A barrage of stones danced to Jesus,
The sweet music of a mandolin,
A step closer, the belly dancing navel,
Looking like a whirlpool, sultry
And inviting. How a woman, who could
Sweeten Jesus’s lips, with
The sweetest flow-through
Of viscous honey.
Her body, which like the walls of Jericho
Recovered from seismic shocks
Of hundreds of men, some pharisees,
To slowly rock the hull of Jesus,
Softly than she ever had. That night,
Jesus stopped being a child, and burst out
Of his cocoon, the fresh faced
Lad, now with butterfly wings.
How a turbulent woman became the ideal lover,
Who loved one man like no other.
Nestling lips, that caressed him,
Gently than the feel of florets, of a dandelion,
A yellow weed that turned to a calla lily,
The tubular petals of which,
stood like pitchers in the rain,
Collecting rainwater, for Jesus
To transform to the sweetest wine

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