Brizzle On Her Breath

There you are
(only) forty inches from me
a spot of light slides through
the cleanest hair in
the history of shampoo.

Your dress is woven
from the season
scarlet blooms mouth sunshine
to the congregation.

I notice your shoes are a
quarter size too big
I see you trying on mum’s
Chanel, rouge, big hats.

So now you speak
with Brizzle on your breath
and despite my usual strained
relationship with others' words
I smile within your syllables
tap your rhythm on my knee.