Bubble

I carried the love we shared
like a bubble in my palm,
cupping my hand slightly to cushion its fall,
gasping in amazement that this one
did not burst on contact.

In it I saw myself,
sprawled out into yin and yang
like a contoured radioactive warning.

I wanted nothing more
than to preserve this precious gift
so that I could just look upon it
and know that it was mine.

Now it is trapped,
waiting to burst
or be carried away 
in the early spring breeze
or perhaps stay for a while,
dancing coolly on my flesh,
reminding me with its sweet fluidity
that I will never be allowed to forget.

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