Balancing on that tight rope between modern meat markets, vintage marriage proposals and a continuum of taffeta excuses for those with no idea about couture.
Coffee date number two,
torn between a Trelise Cooper bustle or Collette Dinnigan trousers, opting for mid length K-mart culottes and flat shoes – quite sensible really.
Then he makes a move, casually stroking her genius arm while he takes a business call leaning back on his wing.
It’s an affront to Cora’s touch-starved senses colliding like electrons; Georgette raised speed bumps, bristle with expectations.
Its awkward for a moment –
deciding weather to pirouette or sashay onto the dancefloor with some spurious home truths.
‘I used to be a sex worker’, she crowed, sipping on a nonchalant eyelash latte on the verge of treason ‘and if I decide to go back, you can’t stop me’.
Ms Pearl takes another sip, the onslaught of ignorance threatening to tighten her whale bone corset breath, now held in contempt.
A standing ovation or white knuckled finale taking the bias edge out of contention, taking it all in.
See, she can’t see the point of another round of ruffles and rouge.
Spontaneous attraction hides in the shadows
of a cloak and dagger past life, frightened
by a mere unorthodox interlude.
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