When Mary washed his feet he didn't stare
down like an ordinary man. No lust
blazed in his eyes, although her milky bust,
thighs and neck were there for him. Her hair
brushed his calves, her hands reached past his knees.
She was just doing what she'd always done.
It was still early. Her lips had just begun.
Her earthly thoughts commingled with the breeze.
He focused on what was to come: his trial,
his torture and his death. He didn't want it,
rebuking Mary with a gentle smile.
She covered up with sorrow and a veil.
And I sign my name beneath this sonnet,
a man who lusted and who knew her well.
You take liberties, Leo. Scripture does not confirm Mary Magdalene was a prostitute.
Hi Leo This one borders on macho, But I still like it for its boldness, Paul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You take liberties, Leo. Scripture does not confirm Mary Magdalene was a prostitute.