age difference, erotic poetry, hard-core fun, nightmare bliss, poem, sonnet, tentacle grape, vcr tape
Hi Tech changes. Some sins get left behind.
Of the endless hours of VCR tape
there’s just one left, with the, “be kind/ rewind,”
sticker on top. You thought, “Tentacle Grape,”
a droll name for our sex act; while, somewhere,
Oscar Wilde rolled his eyes. Now everyone
has a cam, and what you called our, “nightmare
bliss,” pales compared to all the hard-core fun
posted on-line. No one can even view
this, our last carnal act, which your husband
might be glad about, if he knew. “He don’t
know,” you said. It turned out that wasn’t true.
These days I’ve yet to find you in dreamland.
True, I could send this to you, but I won’t.