You are a basket of flowers, and I am a table across the room. In this life you will have a thousand lovers before I bloom. And I will wear a thousand puddles from a thousand glasses, to emphasize my gloom. Now comes the sunlight. The house will be up soon. And here is the awakened princess, with her dark tea and her spoon. Such a deep sigh! as if honey were not sweet enough, as if birdsong did not greet her at every window. Ah! Another clink. Another sip. A fingertip, and that sensation of my dust being disturbed. Or do I imagine it? Impulsively, she picks you up. “They will look better here,” she says, and places you in my lap. And I hold you there forever, and the story ends, like that.