Atop a silver platter from your cherry counter

are three strawberry-heart rice cakes.

I used the finest ingredients in the worldβ€”

with strawberries and red beans that could

procure a rare twinkle from your coral eyesβ€”

and plucked, and whisked, and steamed, and rolled

until I formed the best strawberry-heart rice cakes I could.

( But they look like lumps: sallow, unshapely, with cuts on the sides. )

As I hold out the platter, I wonder:

β€œDo you really deserve to see these inedible, unpalatable sweets?

I mean, I know that mirrors don’t call you Helen or Aphroditeβ€”but I do.

But you’ve always adored these strawberry-heart cakes,

and been as enamored with them as I have been.

So, even if these aren’t deep sea pearls, or the scales of a mermaid’s tail,

would you still love them as much as I love you?”