She flies through the air with the greatest of ease, a goddess, still pricked with the tip of Cupid's arrow, who in the sun of a winter morn, cast her gaze on a man already taken, a potent force, knees bent, arms outstretched, drawing out of me that ache I felt back when she cast her eye on me, she in the air, falling yet not falling flying without wings, mourning the loss of that which she loves but cannot possess, her sinews as stiff with her desperate need to be, suspended in mid-air, her near perfect form unfolding, taunt, teasing, seductive movement she likely hopes will bring him back, movements exposed, moment by moment, with he -- and me and others -- fixated on her, this wounded goddess in mid-air.
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