This Jade

Jade is a stone,
I once heard someone say.
Light bounces off it
in an opaque, soapy way.

And I turn it in my hand,
And marvel at its stoical feel,
colour, disaffection

And then I show it to you,
tinkling voice and shiny eyed you.

You marvel, too
turning it in your hands,
curious, intrigued, and then nothing.

And, of course, I should've known
what would happen next:

It melts.

This Jade turned in your hands
is now a liquid gem;
opaque, soapy,
bouncing light,
but glassy, fluid,
like my eyes
reflected
in yours.