You live in a box of 70s plastic blue,
a doting reminder of
what I quickly outgrew.
Opened, it exudes a scent of resin
that transports me back
to being eleven.
One touch of your fragrant satin
and I’m back on stage in
a pirouetting pattern.
Your robust pointes are carefully sewn,
your ribbons a symbol of our tie.
To you my love I’ve always shown.
From that first day you were moulded to me.
You are singularly mine, today,
as I was back then: size three.
The day we met, I became whole.
I wept when ballet lessons stopped.
Only the smell of you, now, helps console.
inktuition 
Love it! I used to dance as well…many moons ago. I miss it and always wish I could have pursued it further. 🙂
Oh, how i wish that too. Thanks for stopping by to enjoy the wonderful memories that ballet shoes evoke.
You’re most welcome! 🙂