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Davide Cognigni May 2020
A fragrance of untimely reckoning.
The serpent’s tears cleanse the desert.
The cayote dances at the crossroads.
It’s fangs untethered churn the flesh  
Which tender so lush rinses the golden plain.
Purple mirage.
The necromancer holds his bid
In this auction of souls.
The reverence of the
Thief whose hand wails the fated coin.
“I, good sir, bid thee my honour and star.”
Davide Cognigni May 2020
Stay with me Howl,
Sofi’s hands pressed against his wounds.
The blood gently slipped through her fingers,
evading her desperate attempts of preserving life in
his quivering body.
The blood tarnished his admiral feathers into a crimson blue,
echoing the fleeting of the roseate sky.
The war that scorched the land was to rid of an angel.
Murmurs of a curse,
a pulsing heart torn from the chest of a man.
A witch, whom bewildered by unscathed beauty
and scorned by his indifference,
sealed it in the flames of a devil.
Even so, Sofi loved him no more than the stars that he
danced in, archipelagos of the ether, where his wings
wielded the air to his command, a seraph in the stygian
skies, his smile resonated a boundless light onto a tenebrous
world, where malice had seized the hearts of men.
The crepuscule paved way for the birth of the moonflowers,
which in mourning, rose to cradle the lovers in their hold.
The wind rises and the little spirits frantically rush to
attest the passing of a love so great, that evil Cain
could not waver.
The moon rose into that brisk night,
having set its emissaries to cloak his gentle
spirit in a fabric of white light, severing the chains that
bound him to a putrid earth.
The fates had spun the thread, but adamant,
She held onto the last strand.

— The End —