Goest, “Dauphine”

In the secret garden is, of course, the flowerbed. In the flowerbed, of course, a romance novel blooms. A trellis headboard, plaited with pink roses, supports a verdant canopy, which shades a mattress strewn with blushing drafts, mostly illegible except for the word angle trapped inside one dozen red hearts. Marabou feathers hang frozen above the dyslexic adoration, suspended in early Spring. A marzipan bolster provides good posture for supinated calligraphy. Or if you prefer to compose in repose, the threadless covers simply absorb stray drops of ink into their undulations.