Seduced by Salt and Sunlight

A Snack, a Spell, a Slow Undoing

I eat Cheez-Its when I’m alone.
Not out of boredom, but ritual.
Not hunger, but ache.

It starts with the sound—the soft tear of a bag that’s been opened too many times before. The rustle like secrets being stirred. Then the salt dust on my fingertips, bright orange and a little shameful. I don't reach in like a man grabbing a handful. No, I select. One by one. I choose my moments.

I eat them when I’m thinking—when a story’s brewing, when my tongue feels heavy with unsaid things. I eat them when I want something I shouldn’t. When I know better, but reach anyway.

You like extra toasty.
Of course you do. You’d pick the ones that stayed in the fire longer. Burnt just enough to make them interesting.
But I like the original.
Party size.
For one.
Because when I’m in it, I don’t stop.
I let them fill me up, slowly. I stretch the moment until it’s just me and the taste, curled up on a couch, half-dressed in thoughts that go nowhere good.

If you were here, I wouldn’t let you eat them yourself.
You’d be sun-drunk, slick with warmth, legs lazily tangled over the pool house cushions. And I’d be there—next to you, beneath you, watching the way your lips part when you laugh.

I’d feed them to you like I was feeding a goddess.
Not rushed.
Not greedy.
Just one at a time.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each square a little devotion.
A little dare.

My fingers would graze your mouth first, then linger just a moment too long. I’d watch your teeth drag across the edge—your tongue pulling it in. I’d tease the next piece just out of reach. You’d lean forward. I wouldn’t move.

We’d keep playing until salt met skin, until the box was forgotten, until the heat wasn’t just from the sun anymore.

Cheez-Its are my favorite snack.
But maybe it’s not about the snack.
Maybe it’s about the way I taste when I talk about them.
Maybe it’s about how you'd look with crumbs on your lips and nothing on your mind but the next bite.

// Scorpio Veil
For the ones who seduce with stories, feed with fingers, and never snack alone again.