How was I supposed to try to save you?
As our souls were seemingly hanging
from the same silver cord
and we found freedom in letting our feet dangle.
Mundane marionettes clumsily controlled by their astral bodies
orbiting too closely and with excess vigor
their silver strands became tangled too tightly
to distinguish one from the next.
My eyes were too focused in their gaze to have noticed
until you, ever so gently, nudged my head
and asked that I explain the knots that bound us.
In that moment I desired to love you
whatever smaller amount
that would let me tell you anything but the truth.
No love miser could have resisted
a request whispered out of such necessity
that it tore the breath from the room.
With shaking hands I traced the path
from the bottom of a dangling soul
to the apex of the celestial cross bar
and noted every intersection our silver cords made.
What is it that you thought would happen?
It was not until I reached the top
and every notation was written in fresh red
that I saw you already possessed the graphed coordinates.
How many revisions can be requested
of a map that consumes you when you make it
for a scene that never changes?
Please nod yes when I ask
if you momentarily forgot when making the request
that you and I only write in blood.