persnicketydame's Photos

"Death is the dress she wears, her hat and collar. The moth-face of her husband, moonwhite and ill, Circles her like a prey she'd love to kill A second time, to have him near again-- A paper image to lay against her heart The way she laid his letters, till they grew warm And seemed to give her warmth, like a live skin. But it is she who is paper now, warmed by no one." -Sylvia Plath

This photo is Public