The stairs are stained with our favorite kiss.

-bcg (the things you can't clean up the next day)

this is not a poem. it's more of an anthem, to honour all the nights i set my hair on fire with the wind & to raise a glass to all my glasses of wine brought on by poems written under candlelight. i'm not a writer, i'm just a woman paying tribute to you & all the ways you made my chest ache with infatuation & my finger tips tingle with skin-on-skin interaction. this is not a poem, i am not an artist. i am merely recollecting, reminiscing all the nights my skin was wild with alcohol & my breath was breathing out endless love letters & my guitar was singing out holy hymns. i was praising something. i was praising my body & the way my arms always unfolded for you & the way we always seemed to fit together. even when we didn't. but no, this is not a poem. i am not romantic but i was madly, romantically in love with you.

My body can't take the damage-
millions of drops of acid rain
are drowning the light in my brain;
My doctor gave me a bottle of pills
to help water the flowers you killed,
but I think a professional like him should know
that even weeds need sunlight to grow;
I had a garden growing inside of me
what else does it take to be happy?

You're all out
with friends,
and terrible music.

That's the first stanza
of the first poem here.
The next is different.

Stay where you are,
we don't need you or
the simulated *** you call dancing.

When you've grown up,
like I'm trying to (sometimes too fast)
you will walk out of one of those clubs
and see the clouds have cleared.

Then, after you've discovered that you have a body,
you'll see it as a tool,
like a hammer you watched your father
swing a dozen times in the shed.

That's all it is:
A tool for your spirit.

I dwell apart by the River Qi,
Where the Eastern wilds stretch far without hills.
The sun darkens beyond the mulberry trees;
The river glistens through the villages.
Shepherd boys depart, gazing back to their hamlets;
Hunting dogs return following their men.
When a man's at peace, what business does he have?
I shut fast my rustic door throughout the day.