The Bandaged Shoulder Poem by Constantine P. Cavafy

He said he'd hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down.
But there was probably some other reason
for the wounded, the bandaged shoulder.
With a rather abrupt gesture,
reaching for a shelf to bring down
some photographs he wanted to look at,
tha bandage came undone and a little blood ran.
I did it up again, taking my time
over the binding; he wasn't in pain
and I liked looking at the blood.
It was a thing of my love, that blood.
When he left, I found, in front of his chair,
a bloody rag, part of the dressing,
a rag to be thrown straight into the garbage;
and I put it to my lips
and kept it there a long while-
the blood of love against my lips.