Aneta Adamcová-Cruz

I made you an apple strudel—
And then I ate a slice
To make sure
It would give you a powdered-sugar mustache
Just like you like it.
And then I ate another slice
To make sure
That the cream cheese dough with lemon rinds would tingle in your mouth
Just like you like it.
I had to eat another slice
To assure myself
That the warm apples with cinnamon would melt on your tongue
Just like you like it.
There was only one slice left; and I had to eat it
Just to be certain that
The walnuts would go nuts chasing the raisins around your taste buds
Just like you like it.
The strudel was delicious—
And the crumbs left on the plate are just like it.