Poetry / The Last Year of Alexa

A dervish in life, now more so in death
tossing aside notions of physics and poise
silent sexy shadow spinning asunder
her daily essence a loco trip without tangibility
Now she puts on a show unencumbered
by pangs of self awareness
or tethers to mortal earth.

In the glow of black lights
a sultry sparkle spinning.
Billions of dusty specks colliding
undeniably revealing her glowing form.
At times she beckons to me
as I lay beaming on our bed.
That finger of sultry moxie,
beckoning for me to join her
almost too much for me to deny.

I feel her in the shower steam
her warmth undeniable.
Her svelte form jutting
from the foggy bathroom mirror
tiny beads of water run daintily
down the small of her exposed back
trim the form pressing out from the glass.
I trace my finger slowly down the muggy spine
in my head I hear the echo
that silly giggle of freaky-free release
coming soon to fruition.
I beckon for her to come back for a mere second
to taste that giggling flesh once more.
But she cannot.

Tiny footfalls on the carpet plush
dainty sixes- a helter skelter trail
always to the bedroom
dancing on tiptoes giddy
an eager beaver-
constant jaunts to the boudoir
pitter patter over my head
springs creaking from the empty bed.
I sit on the couch below
listening with glassy eyes.
Ignoring the ringing phones
that cannot be her.

Thousands of pixels fleeting-
the TV runs amok as I try to watch the game
Warped static- her impertent signal
frantic fuzz now her hands on pouting hips
Ex-pros words hazy as I hear only “Why?”
Every channel I find a new Alexa.
Spike the night she and I first touched eyes.
ESPN the nights of each team scoring to screams of adulation.
Discovery a glance at the day of the Blue plus.
Soap the day of the revelation of her affliction.
PBS the open proclamation of our joining together.
History the day she joined eternity.
Lifetime the months of loss after.
Every night she is must see TV.

Now as she flows around the house we share
her carnal spirit reaching for only me,
I sip a Brandy Alexander in her honor
offer a sip to her, which she takes,
shadowy air empty to all but lonely me,
Show her the single shell, she sighs.
A year to the day since her trancendence
months of gloom outside of the happy walls
life away from the house free of her
unacceptable for a moment longer.
Down the hatch with the Alexander.
Tip to the temple and drop the hammer.
And feel her immediately against me, chuckling,
as we embrace each other completely, finally.
Eternally.
As we always imagined it could be.