Particular Words in a Specific Order

Crimsoned pulse has a half-life
cut each time the iron crusts to jet:
      like mimicry of botany,
      the roots curl up
      not dry, but sour
      adaptation consuming the norm
      for breath’s sake.
Infernally caked, the pulse continues,
familiar speed contrasting unfamiliar growths;
unmade tumors ripped open as on
the Lord’s celebratory eve, a bit too early,
keeping the spirit alive but spoiling still the
                  moral victory;
much the same with each additional
course cellsewn tendril, reversed veins
and the host wonders if they absorb
nutrients from the air, or as a personal theory,
that they sap her instead.