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 -- the singing mouth; As cold sap climbs to the rose. I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet, Spun from the darkness. Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders.
Madness for red! I devour the leaves of autumn -- I tire of the green of the world, I am myself a mouth for blood.
Excerpt from: Red is the Color of Blood by Conrad Aiken.
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