Dame un centímetro cuadrado de tu piel.
No, no pido que lo mutiles ni que lo cortes,
solo que me dejes acceder a él.
De cualquier parte de tu cuerpo, cualquiera,
no tiene porque ser un centímetro en especial.
Sí, puede ser de los brazos, de la cara o de la espalda,
es más, dejemos afuera los centímetros que el pudor te tapa
(si queres).
Dale, elegiste un centímetro de tu muñeca,
y no del revés de tu muñeca,
casi el lugar opuesto a donde te toman el pulso.
Es solo un centímetro,
primero quiero verlo, observarlo, memorizarlo,
quiero poder recordarlo siempre
y reconocerlo entre miles de centímetros de piel iguales a él.
Cierro los ojos, vuelvo a abrirlos y ahí está.
Ya tengo el mapa de las venas o arterias
que apenas se traslucen.
Tus eternas pecas aparecen
desordenadas, como si un pintor desganado
hubiera salpicado tu piel.
Ya puedo ver y entender esos pequeños surcos
parientes de los que los adivinos usan para predecir la suerte,
y ya puedo hacer con ellos figuras
solo en este centímetro de tu piel.
Ahora quiero olerlo.
Si, ya sé que no usaste perfume, menos mal,
solo quiero el olor de tu piel.
Quiero poder catarlo, reconocerlo, entenderlo.
Quiero la humedad, quiero el color de ese olor.
Ahora voy a apoyar mi dedo,
quiero pasar la yema,
quiero leer ese centímetro como si fuese
esa difícil escritura para ciegos.
Si, por eso cerré los ojos.
Mi dedo navega entre las dunas de tu piel,
de este pequeño espacio de tu piel.
Acerco mi oreja, quiero escuchar.
¿Si tu piel hace ruido? todo tiene sonido.
Aún el silencio es un sonido que dice mucho.
Escucho tus latidos,
escucho el vacío de mi oído,
pero el vacío que hace con éste
específico, exacto, centímetro de tu piel.
Ahora dejame acercar la punta de la lengua.
Se que te da risa,
mejor, reíte, sé feliz.
Solo quiero saber que gusto tiene.
¿Tu piel? No, no quiero saber el sabor de tu piel,
quiero saber el sabor de éste concreto
centímetro cuadrado de tu piel.
Seguro que el de al lado tiene una delicada delicia distinta.
Yo quiero que baile en mi paladar éste centímetro de tu piel,
que evoca el dulzor de tus pequeñas arrugas,
quiero saber la diferencia
entre el sabor de las hondonadas y los cerros
de las dunas de tu piel.
Ya está, ya soy amigo de ese centímetro cuadrado,
lo he tocado, oído, gustado, visto y olido.
Lo he sentido,
lo he memorizado.
Si, me llevó un largo rato.
Si, ese tiempo se lo dediqué a
ese pedacito de tu piel.
¿Por qué lo estoy haciendo?
Porque quiero llevar en mis sentidos
el mapa completo de tu cuerpo.
No quiero una imagen fugaz,
no quiero un recuerdo,
no quiero un modelo,
quiero retenerte como sos,
centímetro a centímetro.
Ahora voy a pedirte otro centímetro de tu piel.
No, no tiene que estar al lado del anterior,
puede estar en cualquier parte.
Si, llevará mucho tiempo.
No, no me importa si así nunca podré terminar,
me importa intentarlo.
Yo construyo y reconstruyo tu cuerpo en mi memoria
y se que será una empresa eterna
ya que cuando la crea terminada,
advertiré que tu cuerpo cambia.
Aparecerán nuevas características,
otras arrugas, otras pecas, otras manchas
y deberé aprender de nuevo
centímetros que ya creía debidamente memorizados.
No importa, mejor.
Porque esta forma de recordarte
es como mi amor.
No es una tarea concluida.
Es, inevitablemente,
Es, inevitablemente,
una eterna construcción.
- - - - - - - -
"Susurrando gritos destemplados" - ® Daniel Eduardo Alonso (Febrero-2015)
<ENGLISH VERSION>
GIVE ME A SQUARE INCH
Give me a square inch of your skin.
No, I'm not asking you to mutilate it or cut it,
just let me touch it.
From any part of your body, anyone,
It doesn’t have to be an particular inch
Yes, it can be from your arms, face or legs,
What's more, let's leave out the inches that maybe troubled to you
(if you want).
Ok, you chose an inch of your wrist,
not from the back of your wrist,
almost the opposite place where your pulse is it.
It's only one inch,
first of all, I want to see it, observe it, memorize it,
I want to be able to remember it, always,
and recognize it among thousands of inches of skin equal to it.
I close my eyes, I open them again and there it is.
I already have the map of the veins or arteries
that hardly show.
Your eternal freckles appear
disordered, as if a reluctant painter
have splashed your skin.
I can already see and understand those little grooves
that fortune-tellers use to predict luck,
and I can do with them figures
Only in this inch of your skin.
Now I want to smell it.
Yes, I know you did not use perfume, thank goodness,
I just want the smell of your skin.
I want to be able to taste it, to recognize it, to understand it.
I want the humidity, I want the color of that smell.
Now I'm going to touch you with my finger,
I want to pass my yolk,
I want to read that inch as if it were
that difficult writing invented for the blind.
Yes, that's why I closed my eyes.
My finger navigates between the dunes of your skin,
on this small space of your skin.
Now my ear, I want to listen.
If your skin makes noise? everything in the universe has sound.
Even silence is a sound that says a lot.
I hear your heartbeat,
I hear the emptiness in my ear,
but the emptiness he makes with this one
specific, exact, inch of your skin.
Now let me put the tip of the tongue on your skin.
Yes, I know it makes you laugh,
better, laugh and be happy.
I just want to know the savor.
Of your skin? No, I don’t want to know the taste of your skin,
I want to know the taste of this concrete, specific
square inch of your skin.
Surely the next one has a different delicate delicacy.
I want this inch of your skin to dance on my palate,
that evokes the sweetness of your small wrinkles,
I want to know the difference
between the taste of hollows and hills
of the dunes of your skin.
That's it, I'm already familiar with that square inch,
I have touched, heard, tasted, seen and smelled it.
I have felt it,
I have memorized it.
Yes, it took me a long time.
Yes, that time I dedicated just to
that little bit of your skin.
Why am I doing it?
Because I want to carry in my senses
the complete map of your body.
I don’t want a fleeting image,
I don’t want a memory,
I don’t want a model,
I want to keep you as you are,
inch by inch.
Now I'm going to ask you another inch of your skin.
No, it doesn’t have to be next to the previous one,
It can be anywhere.
Yes, it will take a long time.
No, I don’t care if I can never finish,
I care to try.
I build and rebuild your body in my memory
and I know it will be an eternal job
since when I believed is finished,
I will notice that your body changes.
New features will appear
other wrinkles, other freckles, other spots
and I will have to learn all again
inches that I already believed correctly memorized.
It doesn’t matter, better.
Because this way of remembering you
It's like my love.
It is not a finished task.
It is, inevitably,
an eternal construction.
- - - - - - - -
"Whispering outrageous cries" - ® Daniel Eduardo Alonso (February-2015)
"Susurrando gritos destemplados" - ® Daniel Eduardo Alonso (Febrero-2015)
<ENGLISH VERSION>
GIVE ME A SQUARE INCH
Give me a square inch of your skin.
No, I'm not asking you to mutilate it or cut it,
just let me touch it.
From any part of your body, anyone,
It doesn’t have to be an particular inch
Yes, it can be from your arms, face or legs,
What's more, let's leave out the inches that maybe troubled to you
(if you want).
Ok, you chose an inch of your wrist,
not from the back of your wrist,
almost the opposite place where your pulse is it.
It's only one inch,
first of all, I want to see it, observe it, memorize it,
I want to be able to remember it, always,
and recognize it among thousands of inches of skin equal to it.
I close my eyes, I open them again and there it is.
I already have the map of the veins or arteries
that hardly show.
Your eternal freckles appear
disordered, as if a reluctant painter
have splashed your skin.
I can already see and understand those little grooves
that fortune-tellers use to predict luck,
and I can do with them figures
Only in this inch of your skin.
Now I want to smell it.
Yes, I know you did not use perfume, thank goodness,
I just want the smell of your skin.
I want to be able to taste it, to recognize it, to understand it.
I want the humidity, I want the color of that smell.
Now I'm going to touch you with my finger,
I want to pass my yolk,
I want to read that inch as if it were
that difficult writing invented for the blind.
Yes, that's why I closed my eyes.
My finger navigates between the dunes of your skin,
on this small space of your skin.
Now my ear, I want to listen.
If your skin makes noise? everything in the universe has sound.
Even silence is a sound that says a lot.
I hear your heartbeat,
I hear the emptiness in my ear,
but the emptiness he makes with this one
specific, exact, inch of your skin.
Now let me put the tip of the tongue on your skin.
Yes, I know it makes you laugh,
better, laugh and be happy.
I just want to know the savor.
Of your skin? No, I don’t want to know the taste of your skin,
I want to know the taste of this concrete, specific
square inch of your skin.
Surely the next one has a different delicate delicacy.
I want this inch of your skin to dance on my palate,
that evokes the sweetness of your small wrinkles,
I want to know the difference
between the taste of hollows and hills
of the dunes of your skin.
That's it, I'm already familiar with that square inch,
I have touched, heard, tasted, seen and smelled it.
I have felt it,
I have memorized it.
Yes, it took me a long time.
Yes, that time I dedicated just to
that little bit of your skin.
Why am I doing it?
Because I want to carry in my senses
the complete map of your body.
I don’t want a fleeting image,
I don’t want a memory,
I don’t want a model,
I want to keep you as you are,
inch by inch.
Now I'm going to ask you another inch of your skin.
No, it doesn’t have to be next to the previous one,
It can be anywhere.
Yes, it will take a long time.
No, I don’t care if I can never finish,
I care to try.
I build and rebuild your body in my memory
and I know it will be an eternal job
since when I believed is finished,
I will notice that your body changes.
New features will appear
other wrinkles, other freckles, other spots
and I will have to learn all again
inches that I already believed correctly memorized.
It doesn’t matter, better.
Because this way of remembering you
It's like my love.
It is not a finished task.
It is, inevitably,
an eternal construction.
- - - - - - - -
"Whispering outrageous cries" - ® Daniel Eduardo Alonso (February-2015)
Esta poesía es un diálogo con una mujer que "responde" fuera de lo escrito, mientras voy aprendiendo y descubriendo su cuerpo.
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