Millay’s Candle

Millay’s candle ate itself up tonight.
The pool of wax was greasy to the touch.
I took a pinch and smeared it on my face,
my arms, legs
this trim tanned waist
every inch of skin unexposed.
A figure fit for Madame Tassauds.
So what if I’m not famous.
I’ll get a place in your museum
or you can simply
melt me
with the heat webs
from your fingers, Spiderman.
Then mould me tall
and mould me thin.
We’ll give Millay her candle back. 

*For those who aren’t familiar with Edna St. Vincent Millay, her poem First Fig goes like this.
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night
But Ah my foes, and oh my friends
It gives a lovely light.*

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