spending friday night with my dead, gay boyfriends

From The Letters of James Schuyler to Frank O'Hara:

Apt. 82
333 Central Park West
New York City
May 5, '56

...What props't, thou ask'st, in these sad times my heart? The shelf of the vanity table on which I keep it stoppered; though it's not a very well fitting stopper, since it hasn't prevented most of the scent from evaporating. It left a gluey residuum in the bottom of the phial, which rather makes a comment on the label: "Joy, The World's Costliest Perfume." My heart is also like: last October's apple; a flowering branch on which the tent caterpillars are at dinner; an empty Three Bromides tube; a Hardoy chair with a shoe in it; a punctured tennis ball; a pocket with 12 cents in it outside the farthest subway stop; Baby Katherine's diapers; the overture to Lallah Roohk; a kitchen match without a tip; half a pair of scissors; eight women with one Between the Acts Cigar; a movie review in Cue; the unwritten pages from Death's Jest Book; a garbage disposal unit logged with cellophane; a self-threading needle; a song from Inside U.S.A.; in other words, it's fine and much as you last saw it.