Sea-soned Soup

I'm sitting down to eat a bowl of soup. But I'm drinking the sea and have turned into a monster, a poem.

Sitting at the table.

If I deny my existence,

Will they follow suit?

Spoon enters soup.

The water produces wind, wind produces mist.

Mist hits my face,

as the waves crash into the shore.

What was once slices of celery,

I can only identify them as rusty buoys.

Salt attacks my tongue.

Close your eyes and swallow quickly,

or the chef will take offence.

I go to blow the steam away,

Whitecaps,

Broth licks the rim of the bowl.

Accidentally swallowed a ship,

and I’ve got people stuck in my teeth.