I turn my face to the blank wall
Molten amber fills the morning
Red and yellow paint on wooden chairs
Blisters in the heat into soft bubbles
Round my feet pretending to twirl.
In the small thick hours
The gift of wrapped flowers
Drip with salty tears
And push violet petals away.
A crimson half moon
Burns with red camellia blossoms
Between pink azaleas
A lonely owl screeches
As moonlight kisses my arms.
My bad memory
Resurrected in empty regret
Is once again forgotten in time.
Life From A Park Bench 
love the imagery around the flowers and owl…it creates a nice atmosphere….
and i think our memories round out the rough edges over time….