Coquette? No. YouA[a–a[ll sit by me with that fancy negligee. YouA[a–a[ll sip your juice with a desire key, as you chortle when I footle and canA[a–a[t see, that jewel, that youA[a–a[re a chorister of valentine. You hold a dove and light vivacious candela; wearing a purple skirt and a solace umbrella. Your tongue atop a wine glass and life novella, in hand, you defy life: the groove of Stella.