Grave

Why do you sit there? Sitting there in the London fog air. Time for you has become a rotten tag as it drags on, like a child dragging behind him a tattered rug you neglect. Your gravestone face of wonder, your delusional views of what was and what is yet to come. By Isaac Gathings

5 PM

The clock clicks to 5 PM I’ve completed another swim I see you walking through The door of our home Your scent assures me I’m no longer alone As we kiss at 5 PM By Isaac Gathings

Novel

Just a portion of the first page in the first chapter of my current manuscript. Maybe I should change it around? I don’t know. I’m willing to see some thoughts on this.