moonlight and mistletoe

there's a vase with
fake chrysanthemums
on the table beside me

and it's so quiet here, so quiet
that i can almost hear the
plastic flowers giggling

a motorcycle passes by,
cutting the silence
in half

there's a shelf filled with books
next to me, their dusty pages
chanting "the night is getting
curiouser and curiouser"

because it's so cold here, so cold
that i could still feel his hand
on my leg whenever i am alone,
his cheshire cat grin always
keeping me company

i must have fallen deep down
a clich├ęd rabbit hole when his phantom fingers
tiptoed upon my skin like tiny little spiders

ghost handwritings on my spine spell his name,
filthy moonlight reflecting his signature
and a mistletoe is swaying back and forth
with the delinquent breeze like a
cast off doll on a hangman's noose