I do kiss your ruby-red lips, but the fear is that afterwards I will have to drink the blood of my own heart.

The poet captures that delicate moment where the thrill of passion is shadowed by the dread of impending heartbreak. While he longs to taste the beloved's radiant lips—compared here to precious red rubies—he knows this fleeting ecstasy comes with a steep price. In the bittersweet world of love, stolen joy is often followed by profound sorrow, leaving the lover to swallow the ache of his own bleeding heart.