This Is My Beloved, by Walter BentonQuicklink submitted by martin weiss Permalink
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|'April 28: Because hate is legislated written into the primer and the testament shot into our blood and brain like vaccine or vitamins because our day is of time, of hours and the clock-hand turns, closes the circle upon us and black timeless night sucks us in like quicksand, receives us totally without a raincheck or a parachute, a key to heaven or the last long look...' 'May 18: Your words are born not spoken. Dimensional soft-vowelled words palpable to the eye or to the fingertip. Exquisitely curved as the young that flowers conceive. Often I have watched your lips shape words... and your tongue nudge them out like small birds not wholly certain of their wings. Your sweetest words are those shaped ovally like plums or wild birds' eggs. And the long bright ribbons you laugh, the multitudes of hyacinth and bluebells.' --It gets much steamier.|
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