Lost in her Nightgown

Calculating when and if. Her arithmetic poor. Her equations flawed. The circumference of her touch deflated. The weight of her fingers twice that of her flesh. As she shed her clothes in favor of more tempting choices. The tiny fire between her lips hissing with the venom of a cobra. The slit in her pussy a tornado. Consuming the whole of the world in its fury.

Her calculator was broken, but she kept track of the numbers in her head. Meek ones on the precipice. Hundreds flaunting their resolve. Tall mountains with only an echo at the top. Feverish volcanoes erupting as diarrhea from the asshole of the earth.

One. Then two. Maybe three. It goes on until my boredom betrays. Heroic capes on villains shoulders. Tiny notches in the bark of time. Endless sticks to throw at these windows. Stones enough to prove the glass is shattered.

Her stare trembles and I know. We've strayed too close.