Violoncellist, violate me.
I am your instrument.
Support me between your legs
and hurt me with your arc.
C, g, d, a, one eighth below,
it is well there, make me to moan
the more sensual sounds
a rutting female ever yielded.
A, d, g, c, one eighth above,
now I am your guitar,
wound me with your fingers,
violaceous spots in my body
tomorrow will remember me of you.
C,d,e,f, give me your flexible fife
that I flute and fluting
forge ahead the final fluxion.
When the drumming of our hearts
will announce the end of one more play
in the symphony of our love.