Imperfect Stone

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I pick the pebble up from its place in the river
The dirt having long been washed away by the current
I stick the small, smooth stone in my mouth
Tasting the salt and sadness on my tongue

It bats against my hard palet
Singing clicker clack as it beats against my teeth
The white enamel wears down under the multicolored stone.
My tongue gets caught in the crevices and shadows.

The salt tastes like tears
Making my own tear ducts burn
As I cry into
This small
Imperfect Stone





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