Salt and reset

Taste sharp like a warning—

the soup gone salty again,

a bite that stings the tongue.

Screen glow in the dim kitchen,

cursor hovering over fixes

I’ve read and forgotten,

a cycle repeating without pause.

The recipes blur together:

water, potatoes, sugar—

a salt fix I can't hold,

fading from memory’s sieve.

Each time the search returns,

a small ritual of hope

and failure brewed in the pot,

a taste of forgetfulness in the salt.