You Weave, I Unravel

I fell--
I grabbed ahold of your thread
And tumbled through space,
Dead,
But for the racing of my heart.

At some point,
The thread had to have
Run out;
I doubt I would have made it out alive
Had you not pulled me
Back.

You saved me.
The thread,
Gone slack
And sprawled at our feet,
Smiled at us.

You did what you do best.
You wove
At your loom
Of whom I had only heard--
Never seen.

I remember,
More clearly than even the fall,
The creation:
The spindle spiders
Danced
With string--
With string!

The resulting tapestry--
The two-tone splendor of your travail,
Depicting
A waterfall made wine--
Stared back at me
From the machine of your craft.

A gently chiding hand,
A gliding reprimand,
And you reminded me:
"I shall weave, Dionysus,
And you shall unravel.

The caveat?
You must not unravel what I weave;
You do not undo what I do;
Rather, we two,
We do different things.

You have your revelry,
I have my strings."

I stared at you,
Dumbstruck by your beauty
As much as by your words.

By and by,
I replied:
"So,
You shall make the stories,
And I shall tell them?"

A smile--
From you, this time,
Not your thread--
And you said:
If that is how you would best
Remember it."