A tincture of jasmine, some green tea leaves,
A whiff of nocturne in the air,
The Hatter came with his hat and tea.
The crescent moon a gleam, a twisted glee,
Upon the nightmare sky.
The Cheshire faded in with his usual beam,
All claws and teeth and grace.
Good evening, my friend. The Cheshire said,
Half wise, half mad, full of charms
Enough to seduce the stars.
The Hatter replied with his happiest smile,
A shimmer of bliss in his eyes.
A torrent of wind swept through the shades,
And then the tea party began.

Glow, glow, went the rainbow candle,
Lighting the room with red, blue, purple.
I pour, you drink. Light- hearted conversations.
Laughing, laughing, and drunk,
Drunk on tea so sweet – so sweet
Like wine filled dusk spilled on searing lips
And passionate dreams…
And dreams indeed! How the Hatter whirled and swirled in his dreams
Of the Cheshire Cat – the ecstasies – the darkest secret
All locked in the battered top hat.

Until one day, he no longer came, the Cheshire was gone,
And the Hatter was all forlorn.
In front of the table, dead candles,
A teapot full of tears, he whispered the name, his hat slanted on his head.
He roamed about, under the cloak of night
And found the Cat, leaning against a dark black tree, purring,
Purring a serenade, not for him,
But for a girl, lost in this land, eager for home,
Whose sidereal eyes had touched the Cheshire’s heart.
Of course he knew, which way was home,
After all, this garden was his playground.
Yet the Cheshire, lovesick,
Would not grant the girl’s wish.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, young and fair.
Her name was Alice.
One word, two syllables.
Enough to pierce.
Enough to smash plates and break glass.
Oh sorrow! Sorrow! For of all agonies in the world,
It is the greatest pain, to love in vain.
Tonight there were
No romantic arrows,
But only brittle fragments that
Plunged right into his heart,
Sucking his blood
Like a crazed vampire.
The teapot tears transformed
Into arsenic,
To save a fragile hope.

He invited the girl to his tea party,
And, all innocent, she did not see the trembling hands.
The Hatter carefully put into her cup that day,
One, two, three drops.
Done.
The tea a brilliant, bloodied red.
The kettle boiled, and the water bubbled,
And then the tea party began.

Glow, glow, still went the candle,
But this time with a malicious delight.
The girl named Alice, with sidereal eyes,
Raised the cup with her little hands,
And drank,
With lips as red as the tea.
And he watched,
Like a cold snake
That watched Eve bite into the apple,
At the beginning of time.
Then a gasp, a crash, a silent scream.
The acrid scent of murder.
Pupils dilated, opened wide, no more stars,
No more breath, nothing.
The cup shattered.
Tea mingled with blood,
Flowed onto the ground.

Far away, on the dark black tree,
The Cheshire smelled death,
Love and hate.
…Love and hate. He wept.
The girl was dead. Deep regret. Penance.
The Cat sang no more, but turned away
From the world, and faded…faded…
Into the crescent moon that haunted
The Hatter, the poor Hatter,
Who no longer saw the Cat he held so dear.
Suffocated by grief,
He turned insane,
And vanished into the night
In search,
Of the remains of a wine filled dream,
And a cup of honeyed tea.