Balchik Beach

With an eye different the sunset peeks above the cloudy waters to breathlessness. The current bears round thoughts and rolling them like stones. So different the birds are being replaced in the adjoining covenant of the nest. It is convenient evening prayer to be a song, not yet. It fades into the row snowballs ... Night is a ghost, who smiles. Different fuck have taken us. And in the Reserve for drunk shadows are multiplying our wise feelings. And loneliness, always the same, kills our expensive souvenirs.