When did we learn that flying ants are not another species, just another sex?

I saw us twice today while the air was thick with wing beats:

once we were children, chlorine fresh from swimming

waiting on leisure centre steps, the other teenagers,

kissing loudly with wet mouths and worried hands.

On the day the ants fly I miss our possibilities most,

remember them crawling on our bare legs?

Somewhere new queens are making their nests and that reminds me,

I should have had you, terrified, while your mum folded sheets on the landing.