Will you tangle with me?

I watch the same dance over and over
online with the music muted,
noting the exaggerated expressions,
dramatic flourishes, and lithe dancers
moving like panthers together
while I sit like a puffed pastry
with only a wisp of muscle memory
from when I danced.
I can still move and be salacious,
but there seems little call for it nowadays,
as the woman in the mirror is
fully grey and swollen,
more a cushion than a catalyst.
There is still a need to move though.


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