Salted
skin - it tastes like
the history of
the human race.
Insistent as a hungry dog.
Fragile. Tied to
complexities it
hurts to remember.
Moving like a machine made of water,
and trying to
expand beyond its bounds.
I will wrap around you, if you let me;
if my mouth on your salt
helps to
forget and doesn't
create new
myths.
Full enough of
old myths,
sodden and stretched
with
bared teeth and always an
empty belly:
Scratch your story in.