Love Is a Weather of Body
Your backyard wind gauge catches the current at 21 miles an hour — movement from coastal west to inland east.
Climate is weather averaged, a viral binding of and entry into susceptible cells.
We belong to each other, an arising consciousness dependent upon conditions — eye-delight, ear-tune, tongue-rapture — perceptions transient and subject to change.
Self is the cause of selfishness, a virus transferred to the cell nucleus by host proteins called chaperones.
I try to distinguish between self and truth, including loss of appetite, nausea, body aches, fever, itchy skin.
Shaped by slant of shoreline, oceanic outpourings of wind and water, presence of strait and estuary, hill-and-valley contours, creates a wave of excitation.
In spring the westerlies intensify, my surface envelope composed of a core of protein.
Like letters, neurotransmitters combine by convention and flood the synaptic channel, fit specific yearnings, key into lock, yet my love is freely given.
The jet stream travels in a weaving pattern that swoops north and south in unpredictable S-curves, flows over my body, spreads towards you.
A plurality of climates, we climb into the inversion, offshore upwelling.
Candy Shue is a poet and reviewer in San Francisco whose work can be heard on the online show, Poet As Radio. Her writing has appeared in many journals, including Washington Square Review, The Collagist, Paragraph, Switchback, Folly Magazine, and The Southern California Anthology.