Salt Lick

Cured meats on china plates
and salty almonds
in an etched brass bowl
Prosecco in a silver bucket
the beads of condensate
breaking her reflection

she picks an almond
and a whiff of musk
picks up an eddy
and crawls between us

I run my thumbs
over the lines that cross her wrists
souvenirs of two years
of runway lights and polite applause
on the catwalks of Milan

but that was then
six feet tall without the heels
all skin and bone and thigh gap
oozing fierce
in lace and silk cut on the bias

and this is now
standing softer and more vulnerable
naked and barefoot
on the carpet
licking salt from fingertips