John C. Mannone
Now, the two blazing-blue stars
a parsec above our scintillated air
are in luminous binary conjunction
with our close-in red dwarf sun.
We swoon in the tempest of solar
winds while the atmosphere swirls
with mood-thickening gases,
and the shape-shifting light
touches her face, my face:
I transform into a breasted-one
while my mate begins to yowl.
My sex hormones, and hers,
are driven in that cosmic wind.
it’s some kind of neutrino oscillation
trapped inside our cells. I feel
the morphing, the turbulence
deep within my heart, quivering
wave after wave of arousal,
a tsunami of emotion. I drop
my spear, pick up her flower, smell
the times of change as our ancestors
have done every thousand years.
All women have changed to men.
All men have changed to women.
Love does not exist
without the fierce absence
of selfish identity. We understand
each other. We must.
I have softened and my mate
is now howling like a wolf.