I have hung our cave with roses, with soft rugs, the last of Victoriana. (For Steven)

Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,

You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.




All interiors by the incomparable Mongiardino and stolen from here. And thank you, Perry, for the Sylvia Plath.