Momo Flint

The milky dew of the honeyed dandelion,

grows sour with neglect.
...

To see as I see,

release thoughts of superficial beauty.
...

It ain’t about what you see,

or perceive.
...

I walk softly,
aware of a searching gaze.
Cold prickles of salty,
sweat,
...

What is it that you fear?
The cold unfeeling gloom of loneliness?
The hollow rapture of living without love?
The silent shadow beside you?
...

A mysterious allure,

cloaks sweet ambition.
...

Sprung from the ashes of the earth,

little bird flounders,
...

War
is a national pissing day.
It is like a lemon; over time its sour taste will fade.
Rivers run red, tears turn to lakes, and hate only grows within the heart.
...

Hold me gently,
for I fear that I shall fall.

Dance with swaying grace,
...