SWEET OLD WORLD

Metals invisibly alter the acid-structure of the proteins I beat in this copper bowl or heat in that iron pan. Nero d'Avola blackens my glass, leavens the spinning sink of me, purples my kiss-hungry mouth. I begin to sing, first in one language, then another, then in both at once, like Guillaume de Machaut. When my body started rejecting flesh it got crazy for fish. Now I'm nervous whenever I'm any distance from the seacoast. My money wanders off, sometimes returns to me brightened with gifts. I want you, are you reading this?