Blowing Bubbles

You didn’t hear me
Come in,
My sticky plates had your attention
Splashing in the water.
You submerged them in a sea of bubbles,
But they want to float and
Be held by

Your hands,
Where white porcelain blossoms
And sings to the brilliant glass
That my lips have clouded.

Yet your wrinkled hands only dim as I
Grow iridescent-
They’ve become the silhouettes of your grey hair
And the shadows on my face,

I knew
My tears will no longer reflect
On your tired fingernails.

But I had to ignore
The sweat on your forehead;
I didn’t want these bubbles to stop
Dancing on your hands.