--- T O M   D E V A N E Y

The glint of golden glints travels 
as fast as talk of sex. I just wanted 
to tell you I love when you tell dirty 
stories like I wasn't listening.   
After two months of no work, sleep-in 
when you should be looking.
Make love, books and head noises. 

The morning streets, high red brick 
smoothed soft by years of direct light.

Beauty doesn't own a brush.
Won't wash a knife with a wooden handle.
Won't say it understands when it doesn't.
Astounds even Brooklyn. 
Fool if you think it's over.