Nothing Is More Remarkable

Nothing is more remarkable, it seems,
Than self-restraint (erotically), she's told;
But sir has double standards: if he means
To exercise no control, lies unfold,
With lurid ease, at every turn of phrase;
She hears these cock-songs, but she will not think
To contradict or countermand the plays
Of the prick's words or stop the water – drink
A draft from poisoned chalices, he plies
With bile, that she’s inured to by his use;
And, if each choking gasp she gives, defies
His orders; let her love all the abuse
That he would heap on her, to spite her dreams:
Nothing is more remarkable – it seems.