The storm did not stop us.
Did not dampen the fire,
did not beg us to seek shelter,
did not drown the need
that pulsed beneath our skin.

Instead, we let it watch.
Let it soak us through,
let it bear witness
to the way you pushed me into the mud,
to the way I begged without shame.

Thunder cracked like applause
when you pressed inside me,
when my back arched like a prayer
too blasphemous for church.

And when it was over,
when we lay there—
panting,
bruised,
holy—

the rain washed us clean,
but not enough to forget.

Never enough to forget.