The Pebble of Me

I prefer to think of me

as a perfectly shaped pebble, so smooth

lodged in the arch of your shoe.

Patent leather purity, your flawlessly shined shoe

catches my eye to distract a rumpled, earthy me.

A chorus of rebuffs flow in smooth

streams of icy indifference to careful pleas. Glib words so smooth,

not unlike your spotless, flawless, patent leather shoe

crushing ordinary musings from a practical me.

May the smooth pebble of me be carried

ever in the shoe where you dwell.