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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358600" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Red Is The Color Of Blood</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it: <br>I have sought it in the grass. <br>It is the color of steep sun seen through eyelids. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is hidden under the suave flesh of women- <br>Flows there, quietly flows. <br>It mounts from the heart to the temples, the singing mouth- <br>As cold sap climbs to the rose. <br>I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet <br>Spun from the darkness; <br>Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Madness for red! I devour the leaves of autumn. <br>I tire of the green of the world. <br>I am myself a mouth for blood… </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, in the golden haze of the late slant sun, <br>Let us walk, with the light in our eyes, <br>To a single bench from the outset predetermined. <br>Look: there are seagulls in these city skies, <br>Kindled against the blue. <br>But I do not think of the seagulls, I think of you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your eyes, with the late sun in them, <br>Are like blue pools dazzled with yellow petals. <br>This pale green suits them well. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here is your finger, with an emerald on it: <br>The one I gave you. I say these things politely- <br>But what I think beneath them, who can tell? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For I think of you, crumpled against a whiteness; <br>Flayed and torn, with a dulled face. <br>I think of you, writing, a thing of scarlet, <br>And myself, rising red from that embrace. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">November sun is sunlight poured through honey: <br>Old things, in such a light, grow subtle and fine. <br>Bare oaks are like still fire. <br>Talk to me: now we drink the evening's wine. <br>Look, how our shadows creep along the grave!- <br>And this way, how the gravel begins to shine! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the time of day for recollections, <br>For sentimental regrets, oblique allusions, <br>Rose-leaves, shrivelled in a musty jar. <br>Scatter them to the wind! There are tempests coming. <br>It is dark, with a windy star. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If human mouths were really roses, my dear,- <br>(Why must we link things so?-) <br>I would tear yours petal by petal with slow murder. <br>I would pluck the stamens, the pistils, <br>The gold and the green,- <br>Spreading the subtle sweetness that was your breath <br>On a cold wave of death…. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now let us walk back, slowly, as we came. <br>We will light the room with candles; they may shine <br>Like rows of yellow eyes. <br>Your hair is like spun fire, by candle-flame. <br>You smile at me-say nothing. You are wise. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For I think of you, flung down brutal darkness; <br>Crushed and red, with pale face. <br>I think of you, with your hair disordered and dripping. <br>And myself, rising red from that embrace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Conrad+Potter+Aiken">Conrad Potter Aiken</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=358600" data-title="Red Is The Color Of Blood de Conrad Potter Aiken" data-description="Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it: 
I have sought it in the grass. 
It is the color of steep sun seen through eyelids. 

It is hidden under the suave flesh of women- 
Flows there, quietly flows. 
It mounts from the heart to the temples..."></div>
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