The charity shop smells of yesterday's arguments
and the mannequins legs' are slimmer than mine.
She poses ethereal in the window,
wears a skirt I outgrew 2 years ago,
he would be on her if she could part her peachy lips.
I look beyond, hidden, watch
while he haggles over the price of his own shirts.
I laugh, I skip and potter home,
my thighs chafe,
I don’t care.