You would think if I had been inhabited by another presence, I would feel it. Shoving out my scaffolding of bone for their ribcave, dancing round fleshy heart, twisting its body to surf through white blood wake, contorting itself to compress within ligaments, traversing muscle hill. 

You would think if I had God inside of me, I would feel him. Thumping after the lost, sending electric sizzles through fingernails, YHWH proclaiming who I am from his throne connecting lungs. 

Maybe it is because he claimed me young, & I cannot remember a time without him. I’ve confined myself to a mind palace that discusses grey matter with neurotic cabinet members. I am his bride & we have become one, but in oneness, I have forgotten I am held because of the incomprehensible comfort of being cradled unconconscious. Like sitting still, blind to your nose, when in actuality scent signals your brain while you whip through orbit at 1,037 miles per hour. 

But if the earth became still, I would shoot out of the sling of gravity, hurdling into the absence. If my nose were cleaved, I would see profile filed, & live oblivious to BO boys, & Bath & Body Works candles.  

If on Friday I was teleported into a heathen, the emptiness of a life of muscle & marrow would consume me. I would feel a hollow hole around anatomical love. I’d rub spiderwebbed feet that have never experienced the gift of washing, scratch flaking epidermis unquenched without baptism. 

Maybe then I would realize I know & feel God.