An Ire For Attire - Chorus...

I'll add a line there and you add one word too,
chewed upon bitterness, and what we otherwise do.

Because in those lines, lay besotted with pain,
your resolute mirage, glum in unsettling rain.

That's wherein I'd emerge, arriving out of nowhere
held in randomness, upon our optical chair.

So don't make this hard, for I'll fall unintentionally,
much ado 'bout nothing, and harmless poetry.

For I am a simple man, who mostly thinkest least,
this hurts, it does, resplendent at one apiece?

Your toes, humbling echoes, an overdose of caffeine, 
who are I to read this to? For you cannot be seen.

Frames of your helpless arm, across my naked chest,
and your fingers sashayed, clinched in humorless jest.

One can dislike, you too may and leave me midways, 
tinker with the thought of mine, for I shalt always.

Now melancholy slays, you further make me dismal,
I'll quietly slip; then slit, undress, and haplessly sulk.

Whatever. The Salad Days.

Only because she deserves to get printed -

The greens stretch beyond me
A hook, a patch I see
He blabs
I concede defeat
Fake, I always can
Tonight though, the melee seems humongous
My vision limited
Pink bands I see
The blue I never can reach. 
The fascination will die
Psychedelia will vanish tonight
Soon enough
But never too late
Till then my pulp will suffice
The only thing of consequence.