Echo-Lexington

strung out on superlatives
absolute and naked
favorites or champions
still conclude

so soft i faint
from lack of restraint
eclipse the mystery
we can see its face

when flesh tones blur within
your shirt and i keep it quiet
that i'm so austere and pious

therein lies the waste-not
upped on minor leisure
who's scoring for fun but not me?
offer over automatic
of the good and wrong
we croon like bats
making waves so the air contracts

[from The Rehearsal Dinner liner notes]