Dust of stars across a patio at night, crinkled light. I opened a bag that held the same promises as a perfect summer night: flavour, smell, comfort, lust for another. I scooped my small bowl down which brought up a memory of the ocean and the beach. I was looking for starfish hidden below the sand, panning lightly with a shovel.
The salt is lust to me. Tasting a chip between my lips is like a kiss on a man’s taught stomach or his hip. The chips were crunchy in my mouth. The sound of crunching sand and salty air crossed in my mind, hay-wired between the springtime days at the ocean and me on my patio that night with my small bowl. Childhood was back and I remembered that I’ve been the same for years. Salt, fat, heat, tongue, and water are all I’m made of.