Oh sweet daughter, my darling, I will braid your hair
with honeysuckle, comb promises into golden waves.
Your skin is the Temple of Jerusalem, lips dripping myrrh.
Your sex is the Lily of the Valley, heart the Rose of Sharon.
Like gazelles resplendent in Gilead, smelling of frankincense,
wild herds of God's chosen run through our minds. When we
meld together like a Cross's nails, thirty silver coins, our kisses
spell out betrayal in Israel's sand. My alleluias are for your arms.
My hosannas for the milk that feeds the anointed from your bosom.
White breasts like water, a trim waist and ears like lotus shells.
Such delicate fragility in my hands, but your core, unbreakable
adamant. You are a weapon of the Heavens, fiery sword brought to
life! I could place you over the Gardens of Eden but I choose to keep
you in my lap, cherishing my sorrow, knowing my mysteries, feeling
my Passion, with me in the stratosphere, harrowed together in Hell.
We are bound by golden cords, ascendant fashioned silver and pearls.
Diamonds last forever, and so will our love, my betrothal promise Bride.
Suck the marrow from my bones, know the providence of my blood, for
your animating matter holds the same powers as the Sacrament, whole
in sin, whole in Assumption, we are traceries of stars given life, my girl.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Mary Magdalene: Poems from Christ's Wife
PoetryMary Magdalene writes on her love for Christ. And follows him to Hell. And back again. (A collection of poems, prayers, and meditations from the year I walked with the Lord.)
