She always wears black cloth to exercise:
a sleeveless Tee and pants of cotton knit.
She sweats from every bend, and when it dries
the signs of salt are quite appropriate.
So there’s a chalky circle near complete
upon her chest, at back and waist a dart,
and where her upper thighs and belly meet,
her perspiration makes a perfect heart.

She senses moisture moving down her face,
amassing on her fingers as she works
the pedals of a bike that stays in place.
She feels the sweat, the rhythms, and the jerks,
but only seldom and through sweating eyes
does she remark the marks of exercise.