Irrelevant Title

Sorry about the title, couldn't think of one

The sky had just helped the Sun to bed; its hands stretched from heaven to horizon, glowing a rusty orange and fire along the way.
Then, the blush of twilight; the sky sighs with cool, pale anticipation. The first guest star doesn't arrive for some time, as if it had waited to be sure that its much larger authority was certainly asleep just on the other side of the world. The sky has waited for this all day, and finally it sheds its dusty violet robe in favor of a rich nudity.
With this sudden and daring exposure, it invites the stars to come enjoy the freedom. They answer the call eagerly, scintillating seemingly from nowhere and mingling amongst themselves, all the while glittering in their eons-old yet somehow still-innocent dresses.
Dark wine covers the gazebo, and the party-goers allow themselves to get drunk on midnight. The stars dance, twinkle their way out of being sober just in time for the constellations of their destinies to turn tectonically upon the sky's bare skin.
Hundreds of diamond fingertips, pinpoints of ecstasy, drag along the surface of their lover with the tenderness of one who brushes aside a lock of hair without waking the head to which it belongs. The sky moans silently, turns over in seduction upon the artist's bed of shattered glass and ink.
Now the two loves, the light and darkness that share a moon, the wild stars and their ever-faithful sky, now they lose themselves into dusk, both of them fading into a lust neither of them can escape.