nathanael.ink

I feel my brow like my fathers
as if my eyes were in constant threat
from Sun,

a brow like a bridge
loaded with water from River
now risen over.

I cackled at him younger, yet
in days now I face him

a wicked lunge outward was made
like wet sex
under lit light;

lighting of corners and reflection
dismay, and thin flicks wrought

misconception’s long croak, loosing a tongue to tangle me

to tie my tongue..
as authority bares his face,
too reflects at me, daring to deal,

to question me..