My underwear drying on the window...the bottle of wine emptying by magic...cramps in my stomach everytime I breathe in...outside a ludicrous sign touches the sky, and I laugh; at least it's not snowing; damn it, at least it's not snowing...and only the vodka bottles are pouring...clinking too, like miniature church bells, and this is summer, wait till the winter cold...
it only hurts when I laugh
sunny day in the Sofia night
somewhere my lover lies weeping
and yet my bottle is dry
or is it the other way around?