I believe that marital intimacy,
When it occurs between you and me,
Must be conducted in privacy,
Take heed! I’m strictly missionary,
Some think I am far too uptight,
They say, “I am a bit of a prude”,
I wear that distinction with pride;
My cherished wife I’ve never seen nude,
We prepare to retire to our bed,
My wife combs out golden locks,
I retain a modicum of decency
As I climb into bed wearing socks,
While you’re my treasure, my dear,
Mayhap our thoughts turn to sin,
As the church forbids carnal pleasure,
We’ll imbibe some medicinal gin,
The congress of husband and wife,
Fuelling our empire’s great nation,
The church says, “Is only to start life”,
Our duty, fulfilled by creation,
My dear if I may put it bluntly,
Beginning the quest for new life,
Just think of Queen and country,
Like a true Victorian wife,
When we retire for the night,
Prepared to enact God’s will,
She makes the strangest noises,
Panting, like she’s running uphill,
Should hysteria consume you,
With other libidinous desires,
I know of a reputable doctor,
Who’ll manually extinguish your fires,
Should you be taken by vapours,
I’ve no need of marital thuggery,
I’ll drink with my Eton school chums,
We’ll relive our old days of buggery,
Most diligent husband, am I,
Privacy ensured by very stout locks,
There’s no need for guilt or shame,
With modesty preserved by my socks.
Their panting, banging and screaming
Were all the talk below stairs,
They discussed their “betters’” conduct,
Then laughed at their put-upon airs.
Dark Edge of Poetry 