Sailor - Paper planes

It's the middle of the day here and in Italy. 

A tendril of flirtatious conversation, shot across a 900 mile trail, of electronic paper planes. 

A lump instantly hits me in the throat and my chest feels tight and my cunt feels heavy. What a reaction. 

It's 30 degrees in my office and my hands leave damp marks on the white desk. 

I'm lying to other men on the internet about the clothes I'm wearing. I would give away my shoes or my soul if it meant that I could see you today. 

Bobby Elvis

High and drunk and crying into your chest
About problems with my old man
And my terms with death

Even though you're not dead yet.
All I can remember is seeing the outline of your round old stomach in the dark
And hear the struggle in your breath

I was was high
This is not acceptable.

Put your fingers in my cunt and make me forget
The fact that you can't get it hard
And I can't care less

Now you think were lovers
Star crossed and confessed
In fate and serendipity
Because this is the way that old men like you, always think of girls like me
Now you think we're meant to be.

I was drunk
This is not acceptable.

and I was high
This is not acceptable

and I was upset

And where it starts it ends and thats for the best.