Hello, pretty girl.
“Who are you?”
You know who I am.
“Don’t you know my name?”
You seem on the verge of expectation.
“I don’t understand.”
As though you’ve just fled your mirror. And are waiting for the ball to begin.
Waiting to be noticed.
“It’s nice to be noticed.”
Are you a coquette?
“Most certainly not!”
An old fashion coquette?
“An old fashioned—No.”
Your allure though is exquisitely mannered.
“For a Southern belle, a certain flirtatiousness is simple good manners.”
“Ladies should be appreciated more. For their effort to please others.”
In cultures where women are not honored in public, like sacred objects, even higher than priests, there will be no morals.
I read that somewhere.
“One need not be a coquette.”
Did you know one may coquet with another?
Partners can indulge in coquetry.
“You are being insulting.”
No, I’m not. There is an art to bewitching. Just as there is an art to living.
“Oh all right.”
I am only curious.
“Have you read William Congreve?”
“‘Women are like tricks by sleight of hand,
Which, to admire, we should not understand.’”
Yuh got me, Melanie Faith.