did your atoms jump ship
when we held hands because
I can feel a ricochet in my heart
b o u n c e a r o u n d the e m p t y s p a c e
I guess it’s another seven years of echoes until
even your atoms become bored of me
Brownian motion of kiss blowing emoji on the screen saver
of my dreams what a prelude to deer deceased on road’s shrugging
shoulders ribs rising like one laborious inhale
though it’s just the last eulogy of cells
pregnant with words trying to lift the body
toward the heavens
but it’s an arduous task turning bodies into balloons
which is why we spend years
crafting souls by squeezing spider
abdomens and suckling viper fangs
hoping something escapes
like smoke absconds to god’s nostril
Jim Richardson is a gay man trying to stay sane with poetry. Lives in Florida with his doggo, Guster.
