I could eat 
The words 
Right off your tongue 

And find them digested 
Even before 
I have swallowed them down 

For your shaped sentiments 
Rolled like curved vowels, 
Considered, sculpted  
Then spoken aloud 
Are like 
A light 
To the light 
That shines 
And does not shine

But fills 
To repletion’s end. 

For digestion 
Is 
The sweetness 
That we find 
To be
When we eat 
What we are.