LiraeL O, Rumination on She

let the she at me that had rolled off your tongue be vaccine
a-roll in the tubules of your survival. the ever constant soft
hinge of a moon crush she, she bedlam, she caucus of the
dead and beautiful, she rat nest, she pheromone, she…she
who carries fracture to fallacy, she fruition to fragmentation
she, she wrath of water gut to throat to live in high definition,
she winter of the puckered lip she fall of the masculine she
turmoil she serenity, she—