Your Broken Handyman

Oh you broken infinity; gray in nature. Allow me to repair you. I am a handyman of words, breaking down this soft-spoken language in rhythmic remedy, yet only for you, my good neighbor. You are the everlasting universe, but let's not stumble over words. The universe is infinite; yet not quite infinity, and the great field of stars must be jealous, for infinity, you are here on Earth. And now I am a handyman of kisses; easing what is broken in your essence, yet the complexion of infinity is all the bad or good that completes itself, and maybe that's exactly why the universe isn't quite adequate enough for that word. So perhaps I should spare my lips and release you into space where you may become one with the stars. I am now but a broken handy man of muted words, signing written verse with paper kisses.