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LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
THE MIRACLE OF HONEY, EXTRACT NO. 77 If you didn't exist I'd dream you possible you impossible to please dream of the gods. Sweet darling goo, humble love bug glue, it took forty thousand miles of you to turn the river gods into a bunch of happy honeybunches. Turtledove. My torch. Sweet dance of speech. Dandelion true. Your mouth a cavern, yarn. Honey-fuggle, or dupe. Deep-seated buckwheat and rosemary charm alike crystallize like lavender in your water loving sugars, sage beyond their years, teaspooning advice with sweet tooth and tongue alike.