Halite

Rock salt is quadrate,
looks like candy,
ice cubes for Barbie.
The history of salt
lays lovingly around bodies
raked brine,
the mines,
vast tunnels,
the crystals so clear
they’re white,
so white
they look cold.
I house these caverns
made pillars,
my body
produces crystals,
but immediately
expels them,
it doesn’t take
a pickaxe,
or a steady hand.
I open my mouth
and quartz sits
on my tongue,
dares you to take it.