September 18: Stains

Stains

Sip my wine and feel it drip,

down my chin,

my beard,

'til at last it makes a heart shaped stain

upon the breast of my clean cotton tee.

I barely notice.

I'm breathin' fresh Autumn air

to feel the cool

wash away my worries,

try to wash away

a heart ache, stained beneath my skin

'n lungs with all their breathin'.

But stains don't wash out,

and years from now I'll see

that purple heart shaped smear,

and say,

"Good wine. Good year."

Intro

So after a nice chunk of time (the chunk being most of my senior year of college with a summer tacked on), I've decided to pick my daily poem blog back up. I've seperated it from the previous blog because I'm a compartmentalizor, if indeed that is a thing.

These poems are coming from my recent self-acceptance of being an Athens townie (Georgia, not Greece) and learning how to cope with living in the real world. For those of you who aren't here yet, I hope you get here soon. The more the merrier!

Anyways, poems. Enjoy.