The park

Captivating shingles
interlaced homogeneously over
the-splattered-paint-dome,
which eyed me intrinsically,
knew what to do.

My feet billowed,
with an urgent chill,
toward the rustic palette shade
sweeping buttery sounds,
incessant tip-toeing

awarded me drip by drip,
as the sun licked my feet first
and quietly meowed at my entrance.

Grounds needed replacing;
budding arboreals locked in spirals
were knocking beneath me
for a taste of the nectar.

But they were too young.

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This may be revised later but this is the working draft I have right now.