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Poetry By: dadio


Submitted:Feb 7, 2012    Reads: 22    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   

Maundy Thursday. The church

Was packed. Full of incense.

Miss Dogberry sat at the back.

Mudrift watched her. He studied her.

The way her hair hung black and long.

Her broad bridged nose. Sat next to her.

She unaware. Priest proceeded with

The service. Miss Dogberry smelt Mudrift's

Scent passions were stirred. She sniffed

Heavy her nose breathed deep. A bell

Was tolled. Candles were lit. Mudrift felt

Love or was it lust? Moved closer his thigh

Touched her thigh. Priest's hands were

Raised host lifted high the Crucified the

Bloodied lamb. Miss Dogberry whispered

Softly do you sense it? Mudrift nodded

His loins stiffened. The last supper the Judas

Gone the Magdalene followed him out.

My place or yours? Mudrift muttered.

Mother's at home Dogberry said no privacy.

Mudrift took her his hand in hers. I live alone

Mudrift muttered no disturbance. His room

Was warm smelt of old smoke and beds unmade.

He offered drinks and put on jazz with lights

Turned low. She undressed slow hand holding

Out each small item. Mudrift watched her

The nakedness revealed the plump body

The broad bridged nose the soft flesh lips

The melon breasts. Is that Stan Getz?

She asked Mudrift that baritone's his

Saxophone. Mudrift nodded his mind on

Sex not saxophones or soft jazz tones.

He kissed her lips his arms embraced her

Ample flesh. She didn't mind his lack of hair

On balding head or bearded face rubbing

Her chin. She wanted sex and saxophones

And him within. Maundy Thursday.

The Crucified above the bed upon a cross

Nailed hands out wide eyes looking down

Head to one side. Mudrift made love the

Magdalene Miss Dogberry gazed up above.


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