My dance pants of long ago
Were like a second skin to me.
Fingertips trace the faded pattern;
Affirmation, that yes,
Like a mature rattlesnake
This skin that has been moulted
Once belonged so rightly to me.
A perfect fit.

I have outgrown these, now,
My dance pants of long ago.
My fingers yearn to try them on again;
To feel the smooth fabric cling to my thighs
To jump about in them;
Twist;
Laugh;
Love again.

I try them on.