There is a cake.
There is a beautiful, rounded
Vanilla swiss buttercream well-iced cake
That they gave to you.  

This cake makes me miss you
Makes me miss running my fingers
Throughout your hair
And gently pressing my own soft lips
To yours, Instead of your lips pressing
     this stupid cake.
And I know that you love it.
And I know that if you do not have
every ounce
You will starve.  

I was jealous of this cake, I admit
Jealous indeed of the shiny new replacement
They gave for you for my love
It made you feel good inside and out, as well
Enriched your brain, and your appetite
I was jealous and stole a slice in spite of you.  

Then I realized, that you love this cake
You have waited for this cake, every year
Every birthday
Hoping for the envelope informing you
That the time for cake was now
That the cake WAS your time, now, and that
All of you was invested, in this succulent dessert
And you needed to keep as much as you could,
     for your sake,
I came to accept the fact, that you needed so.  

But like your hair, I brush this cake
with the tips of my fingers, I taste this cake
I understand the sweetness you enjoy
and the sanctity of it being left alone  

But if I dare to kiss this cake
because I adore the things you care about so much
and some icing comes onto my lips
Have I stolen something from you?