Tasting of metal

If this spoon tastes so strongly of metal, does that mean metal is moving from the spoon into my body, that I am sharing metal with the spoon, that the spoon is giving of itself and losing part of itself in the process?  Is it the same with a kiss?  Does your taste become part of me, warmly working its way into my wetness?  Do you lose part of yourself in me, for me? And what about love that nurtures and tends, is there a taste to my childhood, do I carry my parents in my blood?

And what about God? What is the taste of God for I know God dwells in the rivers of my soul?  Is God the taste of delight like chocolate liqueurs or fresh-spun honey-comb?  Is God bread like the bricks of my day, wine like the dreams of my night?  Or is God savoury, seasoned with salt to bring out my flavour, to make me keep?  And if I lay my life by you, do you taste the God within?  Are we a marbled mix of taste, our flavours enhancing each other?  Can you taste God’s yeast?  And if you eat my words, will God build rooms inside your skin?