If I ever develop heart disease, blame Maldon Sea Salt.
Blame it for my licked clean fingers
After each pinch drops into
The pan of symmetric vegetable slices.
Blame the flake shared from a fingertip
For lighting a slow-burning love
Of cooking and a freckly back.
Blame its pyramids for writing a fresh rhythm
That stirred two bodies to dance
Between a spitting pan and sticky ball of naan.
Blame Maldon Sea Salt for a full heart.