What? No, I did not eat too much chocolate. It can’t be that. And you didn’t eat any, so what’s your excuse?
Well, since we’re up: let’s read some Late Night Poetry here at The Skinny (our motto: 3am is a perfectly fine time to make lists).
Since it’s close to Valentine’s Day, love poetry is de rigueur. And who better than the incomparable Edna St. Vincent Millay? That chick can craft a sonnet! Damn, girl!
(Ahem. Pardon me.) Okay. Here you go.
Love Is Not All
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.