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I should have known once your steel
grey eyes tore your silent perfume into
my ever avid mind, what you had been
intending. You made my flesh weep and spew
glistening trails of black-scarlet, that which
I took and fed you in your cup of tea,
only to deceive and drown you along with
me. I craved you, breathed you in, you the Queen
of my pulsing fervor. I watched the satin,
bunched at your throat, stain as you drank deeply.
The White Hare hung his chin by your shoulder,
slowly licking a dark drop from your cheek, if
he is ever to do more I’ll take his head slowly,
for his has no price such as mine. Madhatter.