teeth tasting, tonguing
the sharp, bitter
pop, iridescent
effervescence winking
away as i chase,
open-mouthed, palate agape wide
to eat the shining
see-through soap.
our hands
are slimy with mr. bubble,
waving, reaching to hold
brief round moments
and pass them between
our fingers.
they cluster, compound,
disappear when we move
too quickly.
the late sun shines
through us.
"do you think we're still
children?" you say.
"yeah," i say
"i think we always will be."
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