F*%ing is a Metaphor for F*%ing (Revision)

[Richard]

Hey Todd,
I only read the most recent critique, so I apologize if I repeat anything someone else said earlier.

Overall, I like this poem. It uses some nice metaphors throughout and is a strong piece. I'll attempt to critique below:

Revision

I suppose we are like an old movie,
black and white,
without the cold complications -The "cold complications/of color" is an a wonderful image. One would usually imagine color as implying warmth, but you knock that tired idea on its side. As well, I think that the black and white indicates how old the speaker's relationship may be, or feels to be. 
of color, reduced to tired tropes
for an unseen audience. -I can't help but wonder who the unseen audience may be. I feel like it's friends and family seeing this relationship in action. I'm sure others might think the audience is society in general or may be even god... This might be a point worth exploring more.
We become the closed bedroom door,
the giggle and glance 
over breakfast,
in these intricate steps 
to a slow dance
that implies nothing
more than a kiss in the backseat -I find this such a depressing image, but in a good way.  This makes me wonder if the relationship is not as developed as the speaker thinks. Was this your intention?
of a Continental, the long drag
on a cigarette, which is still 
only a cigarette,
and still fashionable
in the way of old Hollywood— -I love this line. I like it so much that I'm going to make a bold suggestion, which you are more than free to ignore. I think you should consider making this your title.
where these roles are style over subtext,
and the words between us
are captions written on a screen
I can no longer read. -I like this last image. It gives me the impression that something isn't right with the relationship though. May be the speaker is living in black and white, while his/her lover wants to live in color... Am I over thinking this ending?

Original

I suppose we are like an old movie,
the black and white,
without the cold complications
of color, reduced to simple tropes
for an unseen audience.
We become the closed
bedroom door,
the giggle and the glance
over breakfast, retracing
intricate steps of a slow dance
that implies nothing
more than a kiss in the backseat
of a Continental and the long drag
on a cigarette, which
is still only a cigarette,
and still fashionable
in the way of old Hollywood—
where it is style over subtext,
and words between us
are captions written on a screen
I can no longer read.

~~~
Notes: Though this is close to the original some slight structural edits were made based on the comments, though not enough to be considered a full revision.

My biggest suggestion would be to re-think your title. I get its meaning, but it just doesn't work for me. The images of black and white movies and old Hollywood don't seem to jive with the f-bomb. However, I feel like I'm just nit-picking with a lot of my points here because this is a strong piece.

Nice work,
Richard