Sharing a yoghurt with God

We sat next to each other in my living room on a red bean bag, God's vast weight forcing my side of the bag to become fit to burst. The stitching hadn't expected such difficult tests from God. I held the yoghurt in my hand, a Muller Strawberry Crumble Corner.
I peeled off the plastic fake foil lid, licked it, then folded it diagonally in half and placed it on the newly hoovered carpet.
God motioned his hand over mine, my grip of the yoghurt suddenly became loose
and began to hover in the air between us.
Each possessing an identical golden spoon, I dug mine into the virgin yoghurt whilst
God inserted his into the crunchy biscuit novelty corner.
He then rased his spoon and shoveled the bone dry biscuit crumbs into his mouth.
"What are you doing? You can't eat all the biscuit" I cried
"I like the biscuit. We are meant to mix it up, I cant believe it."
God looked at me, his beird now sewn with seeds of biscuit.
Emotion free unforgiving eyes. A St Christopher earring hung still from his hairy lobe.
He moved his head toward the floating yoghurt as if he was going to smell it, but slowly released a paste of biscuit and syliva, perfect in consistency, into the white yoghurt
It rested turd like on the smooth rippleless surface
He raised his snarling head and wiped his mouth.
I looked him in his greying eyes and rose from the been bag.