It is difficult to know what is right in all cases. - M.B., I.210.29

Seven Colors - Red





The red of your eyes
Stalks me,
Breaks me into pieces,
It halts me,
The blood, like quicksilver,
That flows and grows
With fervor

In your heart
And on your arms
Through the slit
On your wrist
When I wish
To part,

The red drops encode
On the floor
An unwritten treatise,
It enshrouds me,
Suffocates me:
The sick-sweet smell like
Old roses on a breeze.



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