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i am simultaneously appalled by all the intimacy i see
on contemporary TV,
and frustrated that none of it actually actively involves me –

other than as a third-party,
being cuckolded by a wife who would rather experience it through a screen
than with the man she swears she loves unconditionally.
“sex is not the be-all, end-all of our propinquity,
darling-dearest honey sweetie”
and the movie’s full of jokes but she says it’s not a comedy.

thirty years ago you didn’t have to show it,
but if you had the chutzpah to imply the male erection,
you would be lucky if your film went wider than a festival selection.
but as if Scorsese doesn’t already argue daily for media preservation,
there go another dozen new shows each week up for investigation
in this problematic modern streaming pervasion.

now sex is a gag in a teeny-bopper feature,
with the narcissistic lead girl who looks about 16
in the middle of a dream (cause she’s supposed to be asleep)
accidentally stroking dude’s bulging rigidity –
you can see the head through the sheets and everything,
and it goes on-and-on like NO laughs means “too tame”.
for comparison, the sex scene in “Highlander 3” –
once an epitome of unrealistic obscenity –
with Deborah Kara Unger undulating while holding on to the bedframe
is by today’s standards kind-of lame.

the only thing Amazon missed was the detailed excess
of a little wet spot of pre-cum on the crest –
all this a few years after that face-fucking scene on Netflix.
not that all the porn over the years has made me an expert,
but it looked just like one of those Channing Tantaly dismembers.

somehow it’s all made worse because it was written by a guy.
if i’ve said it before, i’ll say it thrice:
i think about this stuff day and night, and if it were
easier, i’d move on with my life
and find other interests than the middle-aged blight
of immersing myself in nude, dispirited plight –
though some in that career i’m sure are alright
unless you read the news:
look at Cody Lane or Dakota Skye.

i still watch the free fashion channel from time-to-time
but only because it provides relief through the lingerie routine
and an occasional bikini line
when most people these days consider staring a crime.
i don’t have an Insta but that’s my own design.
how did neanderthals find a breeding partner with no language?
most romantic movies now hinge on that baggage:
“just flex your muscles and you’ll manage.”

it’s our Friday-Tuesday and she asks what i want to do
when trying to make-out in our condo elevator wasn’t in
of-itself a concise-enough clue.
“maybe there’s a new movie on the tube.”
we’re interrupted by a cute blonde neighbour who joins the ride
in yoga pants pulled high
not once looking me in the eye, while
inches nearby,
my wife has rock-hard nips under a braless shirt that she
fumbles to hide.
for less than six seconds, the room fills with the chemical smell
of a passionate attraction too vague to tell.

//wd 10.11.2023

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