Rust

How much I marveled at the taste of copper,

the same bite of blood, of sweat, of tears.

Small hints of love, sex, wander and wonder,

with subtle notes of spirit, of joy, of fear.

For all my life, I have greatly challenged

the sweetness of devotion, gold and rust.

All good things come to a common end,

the grave keeps no room for love, for lust.

So when the taste found me, filled me, held me,

with searing passion and longing, with fire.

To no more taste salt, angst, brine, or wild sea,

how I marveled then, at the taste of copper.