Fire-breathing Dragon

I look at my back as I lie on the sheets.  
Victoria’s underwear shapes my beets.  
Perfect little rocks line my center vain.  
Define muscles pull and strain.  
I press my arms deep in the bed  
Stretch as a cat or goddess instead.  
First, I see beauty.  
Then, I get petty:  
      a pimple,  
              a bump,  
                          a fire-breathing dragon.  
Through the pain, I run on.  
The endless days of miss meals  
my stomach aches and keels.  
The heavy loads I carry;  
my cramping muscles tarry.  
But in this motion  
might be perfection.