(A Poem)
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says, as he sits beside me on his mat,
His legs spread out before him,
His arm curved over his head, reaching toward the far wall.
I can’t help noticing his t-shirt, stretched tight over his rounded belly,
Rising up and exposing an inch of jiggling flesh.
He might have chosen sweatpants over spandex, too,
but there he is in shiny blue tights,
a huge grin on his face, a sheen of sweat already gleaming on his brow.
Read More