It is not sparkling sand but a hula hoop.

                The hoop is made of gold 

Quavering with every swirl of your hips

It molds to you, like clay,

drawing you, 

                                Hissing each time it touches you      

flooding your feet in sand

        The smell of alcohol burning, clamoring its way through your nose  

You are forced out

out of your mind now. 

                        Watching yourself be dyed purple      

The thick pigment dribbling down your face 

                                    rushing down over your lonely heart  

you are jelly now.   

melted.

                                            A puddle of purple and gold