She is addicted
to the hunt:
adrenaline fanned out

past cheekbones = encircles
what desire   s  h   i   t   s
after large meals

and since eating
is routine this
cycle continues. Her

stance wide, arms
straight angle, bow
cocked—the release

fulfilling like supple
mouth slurp contented
gluttony, the devoured

never realize swallow
until feet bottom
out: the fall

feels like ifẹ.

Like a love jones
stuck between her tits
and sweat.

Like rippled flesh swung
twilight dark and noose
against son(s)daughter(s).

Like silence poked
holes in her lungs
another collapse.

Like whirlwind: say it
back, exhale her next
aerolith. Suspect.