You propped your torso above the sweaty mat,
resting on tense arms, arms
rippling and sculpted and
wrapped in serpentine tattoos
I'd long stopped crunching my body into a pretzel
so that I could commiserate with my friend
on the topic of protein bars and tiramisu
and so that I could watch your tanktop trembling
out of the corner of my eye—I noticed
the rivulets of sweat drip past your sideburns—
but then you said "c'mon girls, don't you want to
get that summer body?"
and "bikini season" and "get back to work"
I left the mat so your eyes could return
to your own glistening skin
Who can shut the door on summer when it knocks?
is this not my body?