The heavens I grace are hers. In a huff of pleasure I wake up in her days, immune to the reality of unimmortality. She parts space as I move through, diving bird plunging in mid morning air, unconcerned that I'm late to leave. Late because I am slow in her motion. Dreamily walking, propelled by our exposed mental fiction that's like exposed metal friction What other Goddess is such the Star? This is necessary, the movement, the thoughts, the pain.