Whitstable golf course

Honeysuckle slides
under glowering sky
perfume high in my senses

like Aphrodite’s smile.

Green of the green
golfer’s roll like
cardboard cut outs

Thrush and swallow
baby blue tit follows
clematis hovers

over garden fence
to garnish wood note.

Far behind the sea
slurps shades of
sinew’d blues

heralding ice cream
long summer days
on the coastal plain

breathing you in .

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