Tomorrow opens for them.
They, a frenzied thing from whose lips the God speaks.
They, who hold gender-future between clawed hands.
They, a pyre to the old self. Lust and understanding burn, immolating a tear in the sky. A sphinx, male / female, penetrator and penetrated, oracular, erotically charged, their blue on blue eyes tempestuous, nebulous, with secrets twined in riddle just behind the corneal film.
They, who rest leonine stone muscles underneath a burning sun and cold moon that amalgamate into a third eclipsal body: a celestial allegory.
They, in a cloud of pheromonal perfume, vulval orchid and cock anthurium glint with pearl and diamond on either side.
Tomorrow opens for them.