I can't find the poem I'm thinking of (possibly because it doesn't exist) but I did find this. I don't have Spiro's stamina for finding illustrations, though.
Summer Villanelle by Wendy Cope
You know exactly what to do -
Your kiss your fingers, on my thigh -
I think of little else but you.
It's bliss to have a lover who,
Touching one shoulder, makes me sigh -
You know exactly what to do.
You make me happy through and through,
The way the sun lights up the sky-
I think of little else but you.
I hardly sleep - an hour or two;
I can't eat much and this is why-
You know exactly what to do.
The movie in my mind is blue -
As June runs into warm July
I think of little else but you.
But is it love? And is it true?
Who cares? This much I can't deny;
You know exactly what to do;
I think of little else but you.
::Passes out on the Aubusson::