“Dear, when on some distant planet
We, love’s protestants, alight,
How, in our deep-space-diver suits
Shall our devoted limbs unite
You shall have those ruby lips
In a helmet-bowl, inverted
On your golden locks, enclosed:
Your starry eyes shall be inserted
In a plastic contact-vizor
To keep out the stellar cold.
And your teeth of pearls shall chatter
On a tongue too hot to hold.
Dear, those pretty little fingers
Shall be cased with lead around,
And your snowy breasts, my dove,
With insulating tape be bound.
There your lovely legs, my sweet
In asbestos boots shall stump;
And a grim all-metal corset
Shall depress that witty rump.
How shall I, in suit of iron
Or of aluminium
Communicate my body’s fire
In love’s planetarium?
Darling, must we kiss by knocking
Bowl on bowl, a glassy bliss?
Must we lie apart for aye,
Not far, but not as near as this?
Nay! before I will renounce
My lust for earth and love of you,
I shall have us both, dear, fitted
With a space suit made for two.”
– James Kirkup, “Love in a space suit”, from Frontier of Going: An Anthology of Space Poetry, ed. John Fairfax, Panther Books 1969)
As an aside, here’s Paul van Dyk: