it smells of sea salt and fresh mowed grass
in the distance
braided shadows in the white marquis
it smells of expensive parfume and french lingerie
and suddenly
ha- ha -ha posh people laugh in three syllables
I feel naked under my skirt I feel empty
one last golfer is packing up his gear
I wear her laugh in my ears like tinkling earrings
she is faking it she is faking it