sweet delight

here’s your cake

strawberry supreme,

with the white flakes on top

you take a sample,

face crimping in awe

your soul itches,

how can i point out a flaw?

“the icing’s too sweet,” you say.

“okay— i’ll remake it straight away!”

it’s not only the recipe

that keeps customers coming my way,

it’s the passion in the hands,

that form the lavish confections arrayed.

i season happiness through my pastries;

each bite immerses you in a jovial oasis—

an invite to my indelible viennese table:

magnificent,

irresistible,

rejection?

not admissible.

“how’s this?”

you taste it and there’s nothing for you to say.

i’ve provided you the ultimate,

most flavorful cake.

you regretfully accept,

unable to ruin my day.

your nitpicking apathy has done nothing;

my mood remains unchanged.

at home you revel in the heaven

hidden in the fluff.

how could the hands that made it

be so unlikable, so fallible? — you think.

it’s the soul behind the masterpiece, darling:

fix your attitude,

bask in the love that sweetens the salt—

perhaps then, in others, you’d find less fault.