I Used to Sometimes Try to Catch Her, But Never Even Caught Her Name

The playful nymph. Asian butterfly, gaily floating about, morphs into Eastern yellowjacket, striking with ease at the vulnerable underbelly of her hapless and hopeless victims. The fluttering, flirty, flimsical femme fatale. You dangerously hover about with coy smiles, playful hands, and silly words that turn men into boys and melt iron hearts. Philosophers suggest that women learn to flirt with their male ancestors to gain their favor – in all of Siam, can there be a woman who is spared the spoils of her father? Cheekbones that rise like the sun, smiles that haunt the soul, sparkling, slightly hidden dark eyes that invade and conquer the id. This diminutive sprite, with slender limbs like a palm tree, narrow shoulders, delicate hands; oriental chili pepper, hot as an equatorial sun, brilliantly blazing a scorched earth. Exotic yet familiar, foreign while domestic, forbidden but attainable. Angel of Ayutthaya, Scamp of Sukhothai, insurmountable obstacle to the Middle Path, infect the world with virtue and vice.