Conversations with God

 

Sweet Mango Melancholy

Spills into my conversations with God.

We drink from it as he tells me

Nothing is forever.

 

When the afternoon rain comes,

I remember the syrup bottles

And how we took turns shooting water out-

I always was the farthest.

 

You mention vaguely from somewhere within the fridge-

That you don’t believe in God.

And then ask me what Id like for dinner.

I note the taste of metal in my mouth,

And then ask you to tell me why.

 

“God”, you begin “is an illusion we fabricate,

To make ourselves feel brave””

The expression on your face betrays you,

It tells me that you, too, have had conversations with God.