Sonnet to Bubbles

This tub of water is my saving grace.
Ocean of bubbles, dolphins, ducks, tea cups
where Jazzy pretends to be a diver
serving ice cream and coco juice to me
as I sit on the toilet sipping wine
and thumbing a poem on my cellphone.
She soaks and splashes until fingers prune
without being nagged or noed in her state
of joyful nakedness, nowhere to go
but to bed. Nothing breakable in her reach.
The mauve tiled walls become sky, horizons.
The foot of water, crashing turquoise waves
where she can kick and swim without currents
and I can lie and bronze on my sarong.