The man
in my pilates class
from head to toe
was huge
Maneuvering his body
in the corner of the room
A sacred space
that didn’t feel so sacred
till he came
Its holiness wholly
unapparent and now
evolved to any body’s game
What was he thinking?
Well, why he shouldn’t
I don’t know
But 15 so or more to 1
we build strength
into which
he’d already grown!
Yet he’s still here!
Why, just my luck? or not
the last of mats are next to me
and two is perfect for his size
With his frame
his leg extended my direction
I humor, will be my demise!
What’s his status?
his intention? fitness only?
one may wonder
in the corner of her eye
Then, cross my mind
skinship
most vulnerable of types
Love-making must be an art
of should for can
in fleshly might
Instructor orders!
15 or so and 1
we bend, extend, repeat
on fire
to shallow melodies
fast and bright
our body weight to command
My friend has little flexibility
or balance
with gigantesque
and calloused?
hands
At time to stretch
he moves away
from her too, on his other side
pays attention without need
of words
he tries
To think of space for three bodies
at once!
your consideration, sir,
is duly recognized
His figure is enigma here
presence, unfamiliar
along side ours
me and my sisters’
But as he works and feels the burn
at times, it seems, bewildered
he keeps on
he burns with us
And I warm up to the picture
Copyright © 2018 A.M. Wilsonne
la louve à la lune ǀ the wolf to the moon 