to murder this night
i must glide in
as an assassin
mute, taciturn
as if on a whispered
raven's wing

with a thin guitar string
wrapped around its throat
with a twist of the wire
i feel it cut
into the tender flesh
and the night gasps

the stars wince with
their dead flickering light
the moon turns its face
away, so as not to
bear witness
of my impropriety

the garrote slips into
the meat of my fingers
the blood pools at
our feet and in the glory
of the sun's first rays
my hands glow

like two electrified
rubies, dripping with
the dangling gore
of a butchered night