Sunset, like a razor blade on tight white skin
bleeds down slowly before the moon’s hacked face.
Blue-veined sky, bruised by the evenings assault
the dying light leaches out like a slow-ebbing pulse.
A starprick punctures the membrane of the night
lancing with its laser light; a pinhead sealing
the wound tight as the suture of constellations
stretches wide, stitching the wounds of galaxies.
The nights attack, battering, bruising each blow
leaving a bejewelled imprint tearing
the heart out of the day.