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.