THE LAST STANZA

Edna St. Vincent Millay week is now officially over. I know it's sad, but look: the helium balloons are droopy and the confetti has turned into a pulpy mess on the floor. Come on, stop licking the punch bowl. Put it down. It's time to move on. I do hope you enjoyed the selected verse though. What inspires me most about Ms. Millay is her ability to paint elaborate emotions and moods in, like, fifty words. And now I would like to share with you my lame attempts at the same:

Ahem.

An Ode to Ethan's Nipples

His ribs, they curve like Puget Sound
Skin, mottled pink of beaches west
Two limpets cling
Their mossy home
The salty flesh of Ethan's chest