The Impotence of Coexistence

So I wrote this little poem many many years ago, with MD in mind...which means, damn, 8 years ago? It resurfaced awhile ago as a possible song then ended up on the back burner again...songs seem to have a way of floating around my head..sometimes for an hour, sometimes for years before being ready to be born.
The words just so happen to fit right into a song, and now I think I've about got it down. I kept trying too hard with it and finally I had to let it ride into the simple structure of barre chords and just a few bending string tricks over the fuzz-boxed betweens. It turned out rather old Cure-ish but fuck it. I like it, it fits, and I'm sticking to it.

Love is an open shirt
Love is the sour moon
Love are the cigarettes that leave you..
gasping in a sterile room
(wretched love)

Oh I'm in Love
In love with you...this
nail in the foot
this fleshy sex glue
this wrinkling sun
this rat in the stew..

This fading dandelion you gave me in June
a dead clump of petals I still cling to

and it's sad and it's sad and it's sad
oh it's sad

that our love is a wound
that our love is a wound

that I salt again and again
just to feel you

(instrumental dribble here)

This is the impotence of coexistence
the impotence of coexistence
the impotence of coexistence
I'm done.