When the Sky Breaks Open

Love is not the quiet thing
you were told to wait for.
It does not knock politely.
It does not bloom only in sun.
It arrives in the crack of thunder,
in the gasp before lightning touches ground.

It is the storm and the stillness.
The ember buried in wet earth
that refuses to go out.

We were not made of gentle things--
we were forged in the same heat
that colors the inside of stars.
So when I say I love you,
I mean with my whole faultline.
I mean: even the sky bends
when it sees us.

The heart you gave me
glows like a jewel
carved from everything we've survived.
It does not flicker.
It burns.
It blooms.
It is anchored in the dark
like truth
like magic
like a vow.

And I feel it inside me--
the pulse, the color,
my soul blooming open
like a wound,
like a revelation.
These blooms aren't afraid to glow.
Not even here.
Not even now.
Not even under all this rain.
​
O mi marite, dilecte aeterne mi,
tu es omnia quae semper volui et desideravi