Sweet & Salty

We met over oysters and laughter,
the brine of the sea caught in her smile,
her lips, parted slightly, tasted of salt and secrets.
I drank her in with the recklessness of a sailor ashore,
half-tipsy from her gaze,
half-hoping she’d say something that might anchor me.

The park was hushed—leaves shivering
like small, startled animals as the wind teased them.
She walked beside me in stiletto grace,
her perfume curling in the cold November air,
her fingers brushing mine in that way
that turns a man’s mind into kindling.
I cracked a joke—something small,
self-deprecating—
she laughed like a bell tolling midnight.

Beneath the streetlamp, I paused.
Told her something raw,
the kind of truth you only dare
when the world feels half-asleep—
how loneliness stains like red wine,
how I wanted more than the hollow
echo of touch.
She tilted her head, curious,
her smile sharp as a question mark.

In her apartment,
the walls were draped in silk shadows.
She lit candles, their glow
tracing her cheekbones like
the edge of a horizon.
Her nails found my back,
a cartographer of desire,
marking where she planned to explore.

And oh, the sweetness of skin,
the salt of sweat,
the tangle and untangle,
the practiced performance of passion.
Her sighs rose like steam,
vanishing before I could catch them.

Afterward, the sheets a wrecked sea around us,
she lay back, smug as a queen,
and I traced the scratches on my skin—
red welts like tally marks.
"War wounds," I joked.
She laughed again, light as foam,
her lips still tasting like salt.

But inside me, the hollow deepened.
I stared at the ceiling,
searching for the stars
I thought we might find together.
Instead, I found a quiet
that wasn’t intimate,
just empty.

Sweet and salty, I’d call her.
Like a tide that tempts,
but never quenches,
like a song that hums of longing,
but doesn’t linger.
Sweet and salty, I’d call her—
and still, I wonder,
what name lingers for me on her lips?