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.