Probably when we read poetry, we connect with the best in the world. When writing poetry, the connection is with the universe, furthermore, those who do it, appropriate both its brilliance and its depths. (Angelica Luna and Parra +) https://encuentromundialdevalores.org/maria-angelica-luna-parra/
1.- The memory is a gift of time.
2.- By dint of moving away you have found the easiest way to bend your soul, until you store it carefully in that piece of furniture.
3.- SWThe silent language of your hands is heard, covering my skin.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8YPQtE1PA4&t=82s
4.- Infiltrate me in your skin, in every pore.
5.- In his desire for touch, he languishes.
6.- The day, semen that he saves every summer.
7.- I have been cultivating, without more than a prayer, something very similar to the helplessness in which your departure has left me.
8.- I want to stop at the words, to fully deny the weight of your absence.
9.- To empty your face into oblivion, it is compatible, redefine the afternoon at sunset and think about yourself again.
10.- I cannot banish this habit of seeing you, with the useless garb of absence.
11.- The day without you, on the nakedness of this skin, that you yourself populated with signs, intact is consumed.
12.- Not a soul, not the flickering insomnia of a candle, not a wall on which to hang these empty hours.
13.- Lying here at my feet, nostalgia stretches.
14.- I long to learn to decipher that color of mud and obsidian of the brightness of your eyes, confined in the kaleidoscope of my body.
15.- Now we only had to crumble the afternoon on the warm rest of my bed.
16.- Poor soothing words, they dress the thirst that consumes me, prisoner in their image.
17.- Like every night, throbbing in my bed is your absence.
18. You have left my soul as an empty room, cilanco where all dimensions of silence are watered at the wrong time.
19.- The flesh bows when understanding the decided vocation, immersed, beyond this skin, deep and transparent.
20.- Like a mutilated shadow, the words left their place.
21.- We were staying, silent, each one in front of the other, looking. . . the faces and the silence, at that very moment, discovered.
22.- No words are needed, my skin spills between your palms, sharing the afternoon, the pause of the sunset.
23.- There are afternoons that we want, just in our skin, to abandon ourselves, to lose ourselves. . .
24.- Wrapping the bones in my blood, I pour out my languor, my despondency and I give you my boredom.
25. Your nakedness to the touch learns, recognizes my skin, where I sow my remains indolently.
Finally, poetry is the pictorial art of the word. Due to this, it allows us to seize both the deepest concepts, as well as the freshest and most luminous sensations. Therefore, when a tireless woman like Andrea writes and publishes poems like the ones in the book "Eroticism and its games", she commits an act of courage and generosity. Consequently, she knows that she owns her words. As a result, it turns them into poems, furthermore, it makes them blossom into an expression of art, due to the fact that it acquires its own shine and its own aroma.
Finally, I am sure that you will allow those who read you the privilege of feeling nostalgia, as well as joy and melancholy. Especially they will be able to dream in that almost non-existent border, between eroticism and love. María Angélica Luna y Parra. (+)
Source: Eroticism and its games.