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.