Salt

Salt.

The way it hits your baritone mood, your slippery tongue,

The way your morose passions were lit up inside like an erupting avalanche of hellfire

when you had it at the back of your thirsting throat, sitting there as if a part of your very red blooded soul

So wanton and aching

So vicious and quaint,

The reason of the season was how you dappled in the erroneous simplicity of salt

As though it were a secret section of plaintive sin

And I

Fucking lived and

Loved

You for it.

Salt.

I taste your salt now,

In a sea of my fervent

Blessings and gushing sinew,

A storm of our mixed bones overflowing with

The maddening and potent taste of you.