Just when I thought I’d forgotten how,
when I was sure the flicker and spark had turned to a thin line of vapor,
and too much regret had emptied me of the inclination,
I spent the last 10 minutes flirting like a pro.

It wasn’t hard.
I didn’t even have to think about it.
I wasn’t even trying.
I just looked into his eyes and smiled, and
the rest rose up in me like bubbles in champagne.

So sweet. So familiar. So missed, this giddiness.
This sly delight.
This resurrection.

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