Window Ledge


Beyond my window ledge

Night mist lays a blanket

Over my shrouded thoughts

A dream state while awake

Of us joined as lovers

Under the shadowy elms…


And it was so

Deep within slumbers embrace

Where castles float on clouds

I’m caressing your body drowsily

Planting seeds that yearn to grow

In fertilized soil, just nigh

Beyond my window ledge



Thirsting for sturdy arms

Tightly holding, gentle, hungry

Reawakened ardor, urgency

Which summons bodies closer

Melding, becoming fluid

Arcing like a lit match

Sounds amplified, desperate

Lips hot, searching for deliverance

Hearts skittering with anticipation

Eager for what will come next

Chicken Soup for the Middle-Aged Woman’s Soul

One of the first things to go in a doomed marriage is the sex.

How do I know this? Because I haven’t had a decent sex-life in ages.

Like, I’m talking AGES, all fucking caps. Such a long time, in fact, that I’m pretty sure that I forgot how to do my part.

Is it thrust, wiggle, jiggle, thrust…or is it wiggle, thrust, jiggle, arch?


Something like this, right?

Maybe it’s like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it, no matter how much time has passed. I’ve gone extended periods without any intimacy before, but never anything quite like this.

My sex life is basically a hot desert, without an oasis in sight or even an ice cold Coca Cola.

It wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t have a sex drive, but I do. Not in the same way as it used to be, probably because I’m 43 and not as spry anymore, but I still find myself thinking about it a few times a day.

My husband would get annoyed if I touched or flirted with him this past year. My therapist would back me up on this, I honestly did try my best.

Well, now I know why he seemed so disinterested in my awkward advances. Chronic pain and lingering depression isn’t what you’d call an aphrodisiac, to paraphrase his explanation for his evil deeds.

Because of this, my confidence is below zero. I remember a time when I oozed sexuality from my pores (yes, this is sarcasm) and now it’s entirely evaporated, like the hot flash sweat on my skin.

Maybe I should just find someone to hook-up with, isn’t that supposed to be like chicken soup for the middle-aged woman’s soul?

How Mer got her groove back. It worked for Stella.

Maybe I need to give up the idea of being in another relationship that’s actually, you know, somewhat healthy for me.

I’m kicking it old school to end this post. Here’s a song that popped into my head earlier today.

I cannot recall what I had for dinner two nights ago (probably pizza), but I remember all of the words to a song that I haven’t heard in at least 25 years.

I was only 13 when this song came out. Where does the time fly off to?