Don't you see the wound I have from my chest up to my throat? (39-40)
Uh, yeah. We're guessing that wound like this would probably not need much attention called to it, but the speaker seems compelled to bring it up to his friend anyway. In doing so, he also brings it up to us, reminding us that he's been a victim of violence himself.
--Your white shirt has grown thirsty dark brown roses. Your blood oozes and flees around the corners of your sash. (41-44)
In a word, ew. The speaker's wound seems pretty bad, no matter how pretty the description is. That the speaker is wearing a sash would indicate that (a) he's a prom king, or (b) he's done military service at some point. We're going to guess (b) here (though we'd love to read a poem like this about a prom king). The speaker's suffered horrible violence in some conflict, like the kind that used to rage in Spain and, a few short years after this poem was published, raged once again.
Drunken "Guardias Civiles"were pounding on the door. (81-82)
These lines aren't particularly violent in and of themselves, but they are heavy with the weight of violent possibility. What else might you expect if a bunch of drunken cops started banging on your door in the middle of the night? Perhaps the biggest violence of these lines is the sudden break that pulls the speaker back from his near-connection with the elusive, green gypsy girl on the balcony.