Taste

When I stare at God-

I bloom like an open wound,

A flower of flesh begging for daylight.

Whichever makes a corpse feel special.

I chew the words out of my fingers

on a dying phone- a blue gate of insight.

When I stare at God-

My tongue wags at my mouth walls,

Yet they never licked the air-

They graze every teeth gate

Until the taste of something metal-

Visits every billion buds-

And they bloom,

And they flower,

into words-

Like flowers of flesh begging to be picked and be called...

Beautiful.