Middle Aged Love Addict

I guess this is as good a place as any for me to start writing down my rants, right?

January 4, 2026

Calm and excited

Wise and wild

You come to me with your sweetness dripping from your lips

And my lips wet with your sweetness.

My mind soars, my body at rest and furiously awake

A ray of light beams from your eyes

And pierces my soul.

Being with you is joy and sadness colliding,

Flowers blooming, trees brittle with ice and snow,

A perfect orb of orange plucked from a tree

Feeding it to you, you lovingly bite my fingers and taste my blood.

Coursing through my veins, squeezing each beat out of my aching heart

You thrill and still me, dear one.

January 11, 2026

I’ll be close

But not close enough.

Close enough means crawling inside your skin,

Sharing your heart,

Mingling rivers of blood.

My scent is your scent

When you itch, I scratch,

Licking your fingers as we eat,

As they explore 

Your multitudes and mine.

My head forever fused with your shoulder,

Lips open and waiting

To share words, gentle kisses,

Mouthfuls of your being.

January 15, 2026

The door is ajar…but just a crack.

The jar has a crack…

Leaking its sweet contents, 

Apricot jam, crafted from the trees in my aunt’s backyard,

Oozing amber that makes my fingers sticky 

and yearning to be licked clean.

The amber is sticky…

Capturing the tiny creature, 

insect all gangly legs and hollow iridescent eyes, in eternity.

Why do their delicate, hairlike appendages last forever

stuck in time and place,

When time and place feel so tenuous to me?

A gust of wind could blow it all away.

January 16, 2026

Fingers linked together, fusing as one hand,

We walk into the fierce unknown,

not alone.

Four legs stronger than two

Twenty fingers a mightier army 

than a paltry ten.

Four eyes

(Eight, through plastic and glass)

Offering a clearer view

Fortified against the questions we’re about to be asked,

Tears we’re soon to shed,

Laughter merging with wailing,

Sighs of pleasure and pain.

Bodies entwined,

We create a multi-limbed new being,

Scents mingling, we throw off our predators

And sing songs of victory

Before the beloved battle has even begun.

2/2/26

Why must you be tethered

To a life that holds you with unraveling strings?

Ropes must be tightly wound to withstand the pushes and pulls,

the lifting, holding, connecting,

And I see yours fraying, wearing thin, 

Like the silver strands of your hair and mine.

Or, perhaps the ropes connecting you are more robust 

than I wish them to be.

I want to lasso you with mine,

My vocal cords, the sinews of my muscles,

My dense and tightly woven curls,

But yours are tied more tightly than I wish 

to make a clean breast.

Your mouth on my breast is only connected through

the wires of my whimsy,

The icicles of my imagination.

When they melt, will they nourish a budding tree,

or simply evaporate?

2/9/26

Is it enough

To be loved through the ether,

Stirred only by written words on backlit glass?

Letters, combined into words, 

organized into sentiments,

Can pierce the heart and nourish the soul,

But can they compare to inhaling the earthy scent of my beloved, 

the coarseness of his beard scratching my face, 

the tenderness in his fingers as he caresses?

I’ll never know, because all of those sensations are just imagined, 

never actually felt.

Are his hands soft, or is his skin calloused and work-worn?

Are his fingers stained 

with the dust of fine-pointed pencils?

What is the weight of him against my body as we become one?

Do we twist and bend like tree boughs, 

or flow together like melting streams?

Does his hair fold through my fingers like wispy feathers 

or like fistfuls of silver wires?

There are no feet to step on, arms to be caught in,

No nose to kiss, no sounds to vibrate my delicate drums.

It’s all a haunting, yearning melody,

A quickening heartbeat rhythm…

A well-played groove in a mental record

With a skipping needle signaling 

the end, or another beginning.

2/10/26

I miss what I never had.

I knew it all along and I still got swept up in it.

I kept believing when he said he was learning from me…

And he did learn.

He learned that what he has is enough…

That a glimmer of something else can remain a glimmer 

and still illuminate a dark place.

The glimmer was enough for him.

The sparkle, the shiny object catching his eye,

Moments of brightness, a gift to unwrap 

without examining inside the box.

I never wanted to be a glimmer…

I wanted to be a radiant beam, 

cutting through the darkness, changing it into a new day.

He didn’t want a new day.

He wanted a break from the sameness.

Well, now it’s back to the same for him, and het I feel changed.

Duped? Tricked? No.

But heavy, weighted down,

Shackled to the fantasy that I created.

I felt fine all day. Now I am back in the dark.

2/22/26

When the boys were young, we would crack geodes.

Roughly shaped globes of rock 

tumbling out of the box,

The exterior so ordinary – banal spheres of ashy gray and brown

But then, outside on the driveway

Out came the hammers,

Heavy weighted in their young, soft hands,

Furiously banging and giggling and frustration and exclamation until crack – 

And inside, a glimmering world revealed,

Lustrous miniature smooths and spikes

A complex galaxy hiding under its shell.

Where is the hammer that cracks your armor, 

your hardened exterior,

Revealing the tender, delicate magic lying inside?

The shine may be too bright for both of us to see.

2/27/26

I have a perfect pear for you…

But you don’t want it.

Too bruised, you say.

Too jostled by the other pears who

rubbed skins with it.

I don’t like the texture of pears, you say,

Not allowing for even the tiniest delight 

in learning of a new, creamier, sweeter and more supple sensation 

for your tongue,

Tastebuds saying no, we will not lick the juicy fruit.

And yet it yearns to be eaten, no devoured – fragrant, sticky juicy,

Eating you back at the same time,

A dance of tongue and texture and delight and deep, deep gratitude

Just knowing that the fruit exists.

4/18/26

Do you know that if you had asked me to,

I would’ve dropped everything and run to you?

Grocery bags, eggs gone wild,

My patchwork purse and the detritus within set a-flight,

Keys flung afar,

Off I’d have gone.

With a skip in my step – no, a gallop,

I’d have set off across deserts, crossing rivers,

Breatstroked through lakes

Frozen tears, pools of sweat

At the border I’d have said, 

“Love is my passport!”

But you didn’t ask.

This exhaustive, exhausting journey never came to be.

I’m so tired from the trip I never went on,

jet-lagged from the illusion.

The words unsaid create more mysteries

than the words uttered loud as the birds.

4/26/26

Your friend looks at you with my eyes.

Sees into you,

The undulating of your hills and ravines

Your tree limb legs

Your friend touches you with my hands.

The waves of your hair, that mysterious ocean,

The creamy silk of your skin

Your friend tastes you with my mouth.

Your special recipe of sweet-salty,

The texture of your tong as it shape-shifts between his lips

Oh, to embody the body that touches yours, my Venus.

5/19/26

Even after all of it, I still desire you.

Even after the rigamarole, the ballyhoo, the gobbledygook,

I still wants your hands on me,

Under me,

Inside me.

Even after the grandiloquence, the bombast, the illusion…

Or is it delusion? – I still crave your mouth, 

Your tongue unfurling my petals as I twist and tremble for you,

You, you, you who I want

Despite the balderdash, the poppycock, the folly,

Even after all of the words that could only mean 

what there isn’t a word for or a meaning of,

I still want you, the one I can’t have,

Even after all of it, the intangible, the untouchable, the inaccessible you,

that predictable unknown, still binds me.

5/20/26

Like fumbling teenagers, he unbuttoned my shirt

So I could show him my new bra,

Cabernet wine that he likes to drink 

with his ribeye

Sweet port he sips in the shower

As water falls, falls, falls

He admired it, then touched my ripe breast through it

As I sighed,

Burying my face in his neck

And then, carefully, gingerly, like cradling a perfect peony,

He unwrapped it from its wine

And held it in his hand, admired it like a fine gem,

Then bent his head to kiss it, my tender breast,

As I, in bliss, arched and gasped,

Watching him through electric eyes.

5/29/26

Against my better judgment,

Contrary to the colloquial common knowledge,

In opposition with those titans of thought and idea 

upon whose whimsy you build your life,

I still desire you.

Why you?

Gray hair, blue cardigan?

Amused gentleness in your eyes 

and a holding back that makes me shudder with desire?

Reason and analysis simply don’t apply here.

There are no principles, no theoretical frameworks

For an illogical love.

5/31/26

There’s a tiny freckle I want you to find…

It found an A+ hiding place,

No one shouting, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”,

Just quietly existing on the slope of my right foot

Where it arches into a yawn

And sinews of muscle and ligament

Push and pull to make motion.

I wonder if you’ll ever find it.

If your journeys across the varied landscapes of my body – 

Those hills you hold, the chasms you explore,

Take you down to the sole of my foot,

Careless kisses flitting about on my skin,

Leading you down past my magic 

to descend my sturdy legs, long and linear,

On past ankle toward toe, you’d find it.

I want you to find it, this tiny brown tip of a pin

Then I’ll know you really know me.

6/7/26

Releasing under your gaze

Is like having another set of hands massaging me,

Your eyes alight, penetrating my deepest secrets,

Your ears hearing the primal melody 

that hides deep inside me, even from myself,

Your eyes widening, awed,

Creamy skin rippling, rising to the touch

Chilled fingers that burn my skin

Your signet ring flashes as I see 

brief glances of your rhythmic hands

And it’s joy and pleasure and and 

And.

6/14/26

Why can’t you love me the way I want you to love me?

Your hand on the small of my back, guiding me gently 

through the rainbow of colors and aromas of the farmers market,

Smells of fruits and flowers and tamales and skewered meats,

Capturing a brief snippet of “Cielito Lindo” in one ear

As our mouths savor the sweetness 

of a perfect nectarine picked just hours before,

Kale? Or chard? How about both? I say,

as you lean in to lick the leftover juice off my chin

And I sneak a kiss on the left side 

of your bottom lip.

6/16/26

I just ate a perfect peach.

But you don’t get to taste its juice…

The juice you once so willingly, 

hungrily devoured.

Instead, you chose the familiar sharp, over-brewed tea.

Maybe I’ll feed my peach, it’s supple flesh, to someone else.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you,

Watching my new lover bite into me, 

drink my juice, suckle my nectar.

Where would your hand be? 

Yeah, I thought so.