Fernando Arrabal: My Beloved fellatrix

To osculate your phallus is indeed a turpitude.
Encroaching upon my axioms is indeed anathema.
To aspirate your meatus is indeed a piggery.
To commit this affectionately is indeed topsy-turvy.
To imbibe your jissom is indeed inanity.
To kneel over your masculinity is indeed lunacy.
To abdicate my liberty is indeed an Achilles heel.
It is an immolation indeed of spirit and sputum.
Gagging for love is indeed an oxymoron.
To comply with your midriff is indeed a farce.
To englut your scepter is indeed licentious.
To make labia majora of my pharynx is indeed folly.
Indeed even deities condemn such grave peccability.
…in saecula saeculorum.

I prize being perpetual for your juncture and estrus.
I prize saluting you between my urgent mammilla.
I prize assailing your plicae with my digit.
I prize prophesying your most flagitious concupiscence.
I prize aspirating you, quiescent, directly on the moue.
I concomitantly prize cosseting your twosome.
I prize being your most turd-like terrene opiate.
I prize that my posterior should be a sliver of nirvana.
I prize that you enjoin my physique with your whimsy.
I prize that my lingua is overlaid with capsicum.
I prize that my gullet cossets your innermost viscera.
I prize that you engulf your clapper in my shroud.
I prize inciting the salvo of your sap.
…in saecula saeculorum.

I feel myself hoisted, debased towards your stipe.
I see myself coveted when I calorify your skean.
I gauge myself vitiated by my prurient rhythm.
I esteem that you superintend my nape with your grasp.
I embutterfly myself for your agued muscle.
I am so brazen as to osculate it ceaselessly.
I jubilate, despoiled, at fanning the flames of your rot.
I am smitten with vilifying myself, your gland brushing my glottis.
I thrill to osculate the obscurity of your abysms.
I am ignited by heeding the rule of beatitude.
I become inebriated, smoldering, on your love potion.
….in saecula saeculorum.

Your exuding scimitar...attains the earcon.
It undulates between my flanges...you dwell in Arcadia.
I immure it and triturate...you perceive Edens.
swathe it in beatitudes...you dream of impossibilities.
It pulsates, corporeal...you are in nirvana.
Due to the elysium of my orifice...you traverse the crux.
Pervading my face...you apprehend the effigy.
While awaiting elation...you persist in delaying it.
In the beginning was your pud...and the Universe oscillates.
Then the tears of delectation...which drop in individual pearls.
And your lacteal nectar...arrives to douse my gullet.
Unified, we take communion...forever concomitantly.
…in saecula saeculorum.


Video Version: Poem read by Arrabal Himself

Translated from the French by the poet Benjamin Ivry
Bologna, night of  7 to 8 Gueules of the year 136 in the Panic Era (from the first to the second of February, 2009 vulgaris), Saint Gueule abbé and Feast of the Green Candle.