Infinity's Shortcomings

One shy, perhaps More. As the glass falls from the windows. The echo of her bed as she lays down. The creak of her closet as she puts away the clothes that no longer fit.

Caffeine and cigarettes excite her dilemma as she solves for x. All broken candy canes that leverage the witch into the oven. And filled our bellies with her gingerbread. A contest of sorts. Of dry markers and stale bread. How much can you lose before stealing seems a moral offense?

She acts on the numbers. Both casual and urgent. Pale lambs of arithmetic stutter their way through the verbs. A distant perfume. Sweet berries and discontent. Spoil the canvas she has yet to touch.

The moment flourishes. Bursting open in a studious bloom. Loyal to this math. That has added up to nothing. The properties of skin divining their absolutes. From funerals and misgivings. The echo of flesh resonating. Shaking the brick houses of dirty little pigs.

Infinity has its limits. I witness them each time I pull on her zipper. Her skin as soft as crayons. All the colors fading.