Feb 14, 2019
metousiosis
a god that can’t be chewed is not a god. we consecrate with lips and teeth and transubstantiate as soon as we consume; by we (of course) we two, and god between each taste, immaculate and bruised the blue of saintly eyelids clenched sublime in scaffold prayer. except
your touch is not a purging, not a cleansing; every chunk of skin worn sweetly raw bears witness more succinctly than a hymn, & any child can tell you that it doesn’t exist unless it fits in your mouth. we understand by devouring, grinding, taking until the divine can fit behind our ribs
—Ryan Boyd
