dearest father, you so effortlessly wax lyrical about fashion and with such enthusiasm
though not often enough my own, minimal though it is
which is an oversight I must henceforth address—look here!
how do you like my little bow father?
its intersection with this leather collar and the earthy contrast of my fine sandy coat and marbled brindle
my forehead and my cheeks just blue enough to speak to the subtle denim material and the gentle lines of white contrasted against the luxurious shadow around my eyes
which as you know are ashen boundaries surrounding deep and bottomless pools of love
not to mention my bright socklets and little white-dipped tail
or my racing stripe (because as you know I am the fastest of them all father)
perhaps you noticed how the folds of the bow match the harness coils, between sable of strap and its silver clip, or the solid black doot of snoot
I ask you to compare the shape and silhouette and its careful proportion; perhaps it is overscaled by design and not just a big decoration
not enough to distract; only to pleasurably draw the eye to this, this my dashing bow tie
and its little brown button
I hope you enjoy my contribution father and find space to include it in your cosmopolitan discussions and dissections
and perhaps even offer an extra treat
your ever loving (and fashionable) son, Totoro