Summer's Last Gift

Bubbles rising higher,

Multiply through the sky,

Focusing on each one till they merge into

One big facade.

You say it was a 

"misunderstanding",

But each of the silhouetted memories

Of your habit--

you ridiculed me.

Why should I give back what you lacked?

Pouts and questions define your judgement,

You play a facade of concern.

No more;

Find another game to play in the time

You spent with those bubbles without even touching them.

For where is the truth in a room full of bubbles

And no bath in sight to wash them all off?