I look like snow in tiny flakes I hide in chips and crispy cakes I make your soup shout hey wake up I sneak in almost every cup I live in oceans rock and mine in shaker hats I love to shine Too much of me can cause a fuss yet food feels wrong without my touch I turn bland bites to flavor loud from simple fries to steaks so proud I am the pinch the chef will hurl a crystal king of flavor swirl

I come from the rubber tree I'm always in your mouth when there's nothing to savor Pull me from foil to opt for flavor

I sit and I float, and await the gentle pull, of a manmade track, with waterborne floats. Idleness is in my title, the goal is to float along, without any movement; the water sings the song. I idly wait, and the current does take, my single or double person float, especially with kids; I keep my eyelids wide open, well past my curfew.

A hammer’s head. A knit of threads. A scoop on top. Food after bed.

In the navy, ships are for floating, while these are likely to sink. They aren't submarines, though they fall under this four letter word. Though to the rest of us, these and ships are both quite the same.