I seem to have stumbled,
On a frighteningly quiet lack,
Of hand-to-hand combat,
But I will gladly settle for left-overs!

The joy of bubbles rediscovered,
At popping and preserving: jubilation,
To look on perfect prisons suspended,
Holding in the melted colours,
Infusing them with curves and boundless roiling,
They seem to melt the light beside,
Entrancing it to bow and blend,
With colours 'till it paints the maelstrom with its brightness,
And halos the edge with specular shine.

Winding down,
I hear the water flowing through the pipes,
A little sizzle and drizzle,
A warm rush for the night,
To stay warm in my covers - so cozy,
I'm a little drowsy now,
Lights off and breathe slowly.

A little breath in my lungs,
Gratefulness in my soul,
Off to bed - I climb the rungs,
And the night slips in.

A simple dream sits in the periphery.