Sonnet 43ish

How do I fuck thee? Let me count the ways.
I fuck thee to the depth and breadth and height
My dick can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I fuck thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I fuck thee freely, as men strive for snatch.
I fuck thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I fuck thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I fuck thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I fuck thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but fuck thee better after death.