Published by Óscar Preciado on August 26, 2025 in: Literature, Poetry, Prose, Blogs, Erosgrafías, Patricia Crespo.
I found her by chance, I enjoyed her nightly visits when the pleasure of her body swept over me...
I sense that pain is the late form of pleasure, once its first lines emerge:
Evocative, like a whisper in the wind facing solitude.
Inspiring, like all those reflections that slowly and briefly drag us into eroticism.
Your gaze spilled over me, slowly penetrating between the cracks of my desires
Between blunders and clashes —that never become collisions due to the nature of longing— a flash of enchantment appears, like a set of vestiges of innocence.
You are the owner of my shadows, you feed me with words, you chain me to your dreams and my kisses seek lips
When the skin can no longer touch, the word becomes an equivalent resource to keep alive the fire that underlies:
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Caressing the glass.
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Coating the fingers.
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Licking the contents.
Sometimes we crossed each other. They were unusual encounters... fleeting... that left on my lips the desire for your body fleeing through traffic lights and streets
Entropy as a temporary route back to the deepest and most intense materialization of desire.
The composition is the result of a synthesis (light, darkness, the number of words and their decomposition to hit every segment of the poetry collection, of course, if we dissect it). If I could trace a graph that ran through the arteries, from end to end, over which this modern and abyssal vision of eroticism spills, perhaps I would choose not to. It would be merely a way to object to time when it flows without carrying us to the climax of passions. Because, although profanation can distill elaborate flavors —superior even to the exquisite—, that which is perceived as divine is rarely intervened without undergoing the most annihilating of transgressions.
Reference
My relationship with the traces of Eros, a blog on Erosgrafías by Patricia Crespo