Cheesecake

I never thought my greatest companion would be a magic

cheesecake I would never run out of,

or that each bite of it I would scrape off the fork of deserving

with my golden teeth would return to said cake,

and ultimately help me to become a symbol for eternal abundance,

a dream I’ve always had.

What can I say? My cheesecake has always been there for me.

And that’s more than I can say for pretty much anything else.

When I wake up in the morning, it’s always beside me in bed,

waiting for me to spade another piece out of it.

When I go to the movies alone and end up spending

that extra twenty from my overflowing discretionary

on a month’s supply of gummy worms, it’s there, all mine, and

then some.

And sometimes, even, when it puts its pasty arm around me

I can intuit that it’s been thinking about trying to cop a feel

with its heavy, crumbling hand, but just hasn’t got up

the nerve yet to crack a move, such a perfectionist my cheesecake is.

That’s when I know I’m lucky and have become most of what

I am. Talk about finding a place of power?

In fact, I think I can say that if it weren’t for my cheesecake

I’d probably be dead.