Amsterdam

The streets smell of sex,
The windows dance.
There is sex on my mind and sex on my skin.
She has a sweet face;
"50 euros" it says,
"And you'll be on top for that?"
"Of course."
Four doors down, a stockinged knee touches a pamphlet titled 'Jesus',
A thigh laughs at the voice saying "he loves you".
Walk past the next and I'm staring at myself.
We are sandwiched between sadness
And no one cares.
I am so high the red lights move me;
There is meaning in this debauchery,
There is prose in their pain.
Am I so cold?
No, I too am in pain,
It will hurt tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will be sad.
Does my sadness compare?
We are all lost, broken, wronged, searching...
Some a little bit more,
Some a little bit less -
No stop, don't quantify.