the moon foamed that night,
flushing red and angry like a rabid eye
in the galaxy's blemish-rotted face, a milk
colored circle oozing from its curves
while we watched, unimpressed.
your fingers began to slowly strangle mine,
forming a single fist as our hands mutated
into one. even your sentimental
side was violent.

that face, florid, was paler than the
decomposing novas, bright against its backdrop
and Roman in its edges. you seemed to fit
against the rouge and black, a
savage constellation with ruptured wings
and skin instead of stars. i almost liked it
when you touched
the blush along my cheek
bone, hysterical in your tenderness.

i felt
astrological, even though you were just
a dirty myth that couldn't quite translate to
Perseus. you said you would never
wake up if i was your dream. you promised
that you could love someone
other than the shape you saw in your own shadow,
but if i was Andromeda, i would be breathing water.

that night was unnatural, ruby-ravaged,
and it was the only time you belonged in the heavens.