God tells me to open my mouth for Him,

looks inside of me. He says that this is where

I hold my desire. I ask God how He knows,

and He tells me that I shouldn’t ask questions

I already know the answers to. God pricks

the hollow of my throat with a needle. He twists

it in my skin, and I feel it pinch. He says

I should feel the flow of energy shift, the heat

redirecting in my body. Even though I don’t,

I say yes, because He is God and knows better

than I do. I imagine water rushing through a

blue satin scarf of a river. God keeps pressing pins

into my skin until I cough up a salamander,

stained a deep purple, a fresh, ripening bruise,

still wet. When I ask God for a new body, He says

all humanity knows is greed. I begin to wonder

if this is deception or salvation. God wraps his

hands around my neck, and all of the longing

curdles inside of me like hot milk. God switches

between His many forms, and all I do is want.