a poem about cooking

I wrote some poetry. This isn't an update, just a little creative outlet. I will post an update soon though.
And no, i can't explain the title because it's a long story. 

Thinking about Ben, Anselmo the priest, and God over Eggs Benedict

If God hand hands

I think he would cook with butter too

Pressing the yellow pad

Around the pan while it bubbles

If God had eyes

He might enjoy the sense of oneness

Eggs become in the pan

Thick, like lotion for the soul

If God had feet

They might pace circles in front of the stove

Because if he made the whole world in seven days

Waiting must be hard for him

If God had a heart

Even it might clog, arteries embracing

The chance to die from free will,

Just like you and me