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--- 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.

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