She arches her back on the yoga mat,
channelling Durdle Door.
In full-length breath
and composed hypertension,
she remains unmoved
as the world about her
suffers to mass
and the moving ocean floor.

Well-versed in the effects of cold air
and rhythmic bombardment,
she has learned a stillness
to rival the effects of pink wine
on her nerves
and her taste for cigarettes.
My sweet Venusian,
despite physical prowess,

cannot sustain her poses
against time and internalised illness.