spheres of influence, of fluency, spheres retracting to singular points in time and space, black holes, where information doesn't escape. bubbles, bubbles blown, soap and water, the god awful sickly taste of bubbly prepackaged, hoops wind created bubbles, soaped hands, caught. one bubble joins another, and another, walls created, walls formed, bubbles join, spheres, one by one, they fall, they pop inside another, next to a bigger as bubbles become the bubble. pop. a bubble on the outside, the small one, at one point a focus, a pivot, where 4 other bubbles met, and those 4 other bubbles joined, and merged, and left the tiny bubble on the out. size matters. there is strength there. there are islands of happiness and joy. there is peace in the world, out there, untouched. retraction, reduction, till only the purest essence of flavor, the actual thought, the truest idea of red wine remains, and it explodes when tasted.