On the park bench, in the shade of the pine trees and beside the flowing pond, before all the exposed bodies glistening under the sun. The glorious beams flicker on limbs of entangled mess, of sweet morning kisses, eyes linger in love’s capture.
With eyes closed, he sees her face, delicate and round, freckles line her nose, lips of coral rose, eyes of hazel, peering back, her pale hand takes his own and brings him close. The scent of his cigars and cologne weave with her musty tones. Every detail of her, firmly etched in his mind.
Now he sits forsaken, watching couples drown in love’s tender essence, a recollection, a memory, a place long ago. His bequeathed a park bench to rest his weary bones, left to grow old, all alone.