Can my Affection Be Voluted

Trace minerals fallen into the glass.

I clasp its see-through half hopefully. 

 

I stood at the top of my lungs, whiled

minus the likely succeeding word away.

 

Tap shoes corner me often. I sway.

Threadbare holds a fascination with truth.

 

Ruth was her name, my fictional lamp light. 

A white linen suit whiter than parchment.

 

In livery or drawn freehand the same.

Sand in her shoes the same sand in my shoes.