Entry October 3l

           How long --- how long can I live this night!
Look ...the clouds shine ---
darling, how did you do it?  The wind is so soft, the rain is beautiful ---
what did you do to the wind, and the rain, and the clouds?

And to me?
See, I am drunk, high ... I am drunk on you as on a reefer!

We will cross here where the street is crowded that I may hold your hand
We will ride the subways that we may sit touching --- that there
be no distance us.  Speak ... that I may fill my ears with you.
Stay near me, so ... that I may fill my lungs with you.

Come home with me ... that I may fill my arms with you.
Come where only I can see you, and undo your dress about your throat
And my lips will make the nipples of your breasts burst open
like acrons planted in warm spring soil.  Come home with me ...

lift your dress high --- your thighs will light my room with moonlight,
and the hair in the pockets of them will recall to me
the darkness fir and larches in the dark mountain passes.

If only I could fit my life's times into those hours --- that I might say:
" was with her from eight to twelve'oclock ... and years passed"!
Poetry, pages from the book in part
"THIS IS MY BELOVED"
By W. Benton
(published 1943)
ENTRY  April 28

            Because  hate is legislated . . . written into
the primer and testament,
shot into our blood and brain like vaccine or vitamins

Because our day of time, of  hours --- and the clock-hand turns,
closes the circle upon us; and black timeless nitght
sucks us in like quicksand, receives us totally ---
without a raincheck or a parachute, a key to heaven or the last long look

I need love  more than ever now . . . I need your love,
I need love more than hope or money, wisdom or a drink

Because slow negative death withers the world and only yes
can turn the tide
Because love has your face and body . . . and your hands are tender
and your mouth is sweet ---- and God has made no other eyes like yours.
ENTRY  May 25

                All right, sulk.  But as you sit, so ... knees high ---
the wild, spiral feathers accentuating the meeting of your thighs,
like dark grass grown in too rich a soil --
                                   you are beautifully eloquent.

Or when your gown loosens,
falls off the small fierce faces of your breasts, as the cowl falls off
the face of a hunter's falcon . . . I attend, nerve-naked

I memorize you . . . walking as if to music.  Your dress lies
against the cheeks and hollow of your thighs like running water.
Your breasts nod yes each step,
your slow involute hips cradle the eternal sononym for God.

The dress censors not a syllable of you.
Articulate eyes wink from your breasts and belly, signal from your throat ---
beckon from your knees, your waist . . . your mobile shoulders.

Yes, your body makes eyes at me from every salient,
promises warm, lavish promises ---
curved colored . . . finished in warm velvet, like baby rabbits.
POETRY EXCERPTS IN PART
BY WALTER BENTON
ENTRY July 26

            The thin sketal moon  reminded me - - - and the sharp
electric stars,  when I walked to meet you.
And meeting you, your face - - -grim and implacable ---- reminded me.

And the studied way you controlled pleasure, even when we had drunk ---
danced, heard swing music:  even when you read my new poem to you.
All these reminded me.  A month had passed ---
a month, by the gaunt red moon like the mark of an incandescent thumbnail

Your mind's cosmetic lay frightfully upon you; muddled your eyes
and settled on your mouth.  Entered your skin like acid.
How will you be when you have fully torn the rainbows off my eyes?

Ah, we will be poor then, you and I --- sorry and wrong, alone and poor ---
for all our righteousness and love we may have found in others.
Yes, I will be poor - - - what else not having you can mean to me?

And as for you - - - all the things you cannot ever be, you are
only because my love is like the magic touch of stars.  You wear my love,
and all who see you say; how beautifully his love becomes her!

ENTRY May 11

           Some see you in similies:  Helen's rich curves
colors autum has.  You please them
as opium dream pleases, or you smile as the sun is rising ---

or you walk proudly like a woman courted.
But I see you best unrelated ---  with not a metaphor to your name:
your hair  not like the silk of corn or spiders but like your hair,
your mouth resembling nothing so wonderfully much as your own mouth.

Why should I say you are a like a slender water bird on wing?
This is but a side of you, a fraction.  Or that your thighs are lilies ---
lilies are cold,
lilies are neither quick or scented --- they do not stain the night
with velvet musk ------ they cannot fire love and quench it.

I mean - - - compliments become you
as tinsel  becomes a tall snow covered cedar in a mountain cedar wood.

ENTRY June 3rd

                      Your eyes never opened after the last kiss.
We had loved hard ----
its all over your throat and hair, it lies on your mouth as a wild
red flower:  it's on your cheeks and forehead in waning radience.

The wonderful strength of your thighs is back to normal beauty.
Your nipples contract  --- gather in like blossums for the night.
Your hand half-sleeping finds me - - - your touch is very dear.

Now you are all sleep,  alone with yourself --- and a tall blue fence
around you:  not a tendon taut,  not a secret secret,
you are all sleep and alone in a warm and velvet world ---

many an idle dream is looking for a home of sleep like yours to happen in.




ENTRY May 4

         You rise out of sleep like a growing thing rises
out of the garden soil.
Two leaves part to be your mouth, two tender seedleaves---
and your eyes are wonderfully starlike,
your eyes are luminous and soft as the velvet of pansies.

Darling, good morning.

Our arms are empty of each other for a moment only.
How beautifully you  turn --- your mouth tilts to let my kisses in.
Lie still - - - we shall be longer.

We need so little room, we two --- thus on a single pillow ---
as we move nearer,
nearer heaven --- until I burst inside you like a screaming rocket.

Then we are quietly apart - - - returning to this earth.

ENTRY June 24

               Last night we entered our bed through opposite doors.
Hours we lay awake, entrenched --- before the trapdoor gave
and we hurtling down in jerky sleep.
When we suddenly awoke, our bodies were together in the warm bed lap---

and I was taking deep swollen kisses out of your briming mouth.
Your lips cushioned the inherent murder in your teeth.
My body grew to fit your body ---
and the opened blossoms of you were flaming, full --- and making honey.

There in the jungle twilight, stark naked god slipped in between us
and the lightning struck ---
and in the light I saw you, you were lovelier by many years than yesterday.

Today --- your mind moved back into your face, willing away
your last night's beauty.
And the hard mask of resolution lies dull upon you like a bad makeup.


ENTRY November 19

                 What enslaving cocktails have I sucked
from your full mouth - - - to leave me so totally yours!

The red pulp of your kisses is sweet on my tongue as the red
ripe melon meat - - - yes, even now.
though remembered only --- though you are marketing your love.

I have looked too long upon you,  too long ---
and with so much love that strangers can see you in my face---
as the sun and vivid colors leave an after-image in the eyes.

Entry June 12

        Sleep late, nobody cares what time it is.
Sunday morning, coffee in bed . . . then love
with coffee flavored kisses.  And your tongue dripping honey like a ripe fig.

I have been hours awake looking at you lithely at rest in the free
natural way rivers bed and clouds shape.
Your bedgown gathers up your full round thighs, rolls over your hips.
Your breasts are snub like children's faces . . . and your navel deep

as a god's eye.

        Yes, your lips match your teats beautifully, rose and rose.
The hair of your arm's hollow and where your thighs meet
agree completely, being brown and soft to look at like a nest of field mice.
Praise be the walls that shelter you from eyes that are not mine!

Love, not prayers, shall be our offering this day.
We shall praise God with absolute embraces . . . our bodies shall sing Him
in His own incomparable tongue.
Prayer is humbleness, I cannot be humble with the wealth of you beside me.
Click for Mount Dora, Florida Forecast
ENTRY  August 27

             The white full moon like a great beautiful whore
solicits over the city,  eggs the lovers on ---
the haves - - -walking in twos to their beds and to their mating.
I walk alone.  Slowly.  No hurry,  Nobody's waiting.

My love who loved me (she said)  is gone.  My love is gone.

And I walk alone.  It's goodnight time --- the haves are everywhere,
in parked cars and passing taxis ---
the still, abstracted figures pressed against walls and niched
in dark doorways - - - each two arm-hooped into one body rigid with joy.

A lighted window holds me like high voltage.  I see ---
cupped in the bed's  white palm, the haves ---- O she is beautiful, her breasts
are white dogwood and her thighs
barked poplars growing out of the dark- matted  jungle of her crotch.

He is kissing her, inteminably her mouth --- and one by one each breast
is carried to the lips with tender violence.
Now he lays his hand to her secret body.  Her frantic thighs invite
invasion.  He covers her, enters - - - turns god --- and my eyelids fall.