The Game With No Memory

The first question, as you fell asleep, looked like a crossed out word in your composition book, black bandaids on the inside of your eyelids. But you drew a heart in blue Sharpie between the two stickies. And you let your dreams slip across the windowsill into the nightglow. When she asked you the question As you lay in her bed Night turned ice. And this time You opened your mouth and felt The steel sword you had swallowed expel itself from your throat. As you watched your reflection bleed silver rivers down her eyes. I needed to have taught you to play The game with no memory and no sense of debt. So you never had to decide Between distaste and risk. The unwritten song. The first time I answered for you. And the second time, and the third You knew. And so did she.