Salt

 The sea piles in against the shore that grinds more slowly. Salt
explodes. Sprinkle it on roast beef or corn just before you turn
them into you. Extremes, edges: tears, sex-sweat tastes briny.
Sewn into a field, it leaves soil barren; scattered over roads, its
heat clears the way. You can only move on. A nurse’s nipple is
washed in salt or a few grains are sprinkled directly on the
newborn’s tongue. All the senses wake up. Everyone’s left a
little thirsty.