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Description
I looked at her, and said
"The gospel taste like cherries"
She said, it tastes like truth
I told her truth tasted of cherries
She stopped what she was doing, adopted a cold hard stare and said:
"No"
I looked sad and said nothing.
Her tone grew worried as she consoled—
"God tastes like beauty."
Taking in air to puff up my shrinking, shrinking chest, I gazed down past her eyes to the bottom of her soul.
"God is a lie. He tastes of non-existence and stale air. A preacher drunk under the alter at noon."
A gasp, and an angry look, a whisper
"Sacrilegious"
And she was gone
Leaving me no longer with her soul, but staring at my shoes,
to whisper so softly,

"Darling, you are my gospel. I speak not of god and beauty, but of you."

Description
I looked at her, and said
"The gospel taste like cherries"
She said, it tastes like truth
I told her truth tasted of cherries
She stopped what she was doing, adopted a cold hard stare and said:
"No"
I looked sad and said nothing.
Her tone grew worried as she consoled—
"God tastes like beauty."
Taking in air to puff up my shrinking, shrinking chest, I gazed down past her eyes to the bottom of her soul.
"God is a lie. He tastes of non-existence and stale air. A preacher drunk under the alter at noon."
A gasp, and an angry look, a whisper
"Sacrilegious"
And she was gone
Leaving me no longer with her soul, but staring at my shoes,
to whisper so softly,

"Darling, you are my gospel. I speak not of god and beauty, but of you."