This melody never staggers, grows old,
this song from an Elvis-bearded age.

It blooms and blushes me more than it should!
Dreams blister like bread, memories burn,

pungent under starblossoms and
moonfruit. My struck tongues rave:

no lie, Horatio, this is where it’s at.
All you fractious muses, bustle me close,

fiddle me measures to boast of.
Shove me suavely into another day.