A Love That Never Dies

Almost unfathomable, this heavy, raw ache,  

my love for you, a molten truth,  

uncontained by skin or bone, it pulses,  

untamed, even as my own faults rise,  

sharp-edged shards from the buried past,  

I feel them, cutting into the now.  

Even if I could walk away,  

even if your voice went silent for years,  

this feeling—like roots breaking concrete—  

would live, would grow, underneath everything.  

And no matter how we push or pull,  

no matter our forgetting or our fear,  

this love remains, still as a stone.  

When my body is nothing but dust,  

a sunflower will rise from my marrow,  

its face always reaching for the sun.  

The yellow will sing of you and me,  

its nectar laden, a sweetness thick,  

drawing bees, ants, butterflies to feast.  

The storms will lash it; it will stand.  

On the grave, two butterflies will meet,  

their fragile wings brushing like whispers.  

And if you come, you’ll see them—  

symbols of love, waiting for the next life.