Amsterdam

The narrow doll houses have opened their eyes

On the pink glow of silk underwear,

And hands griping phones with no sound

Hurry from one transparent room to another

When the curtain's drawn you walk on by,

On the paved street full of dark coats

And hushed whispers. Drunk voices cry

In a night full of magazine girls

We pick at fries drowned in orange sauce

And amble around, watching the show -

Throngs of bikes whizz past and go

Towards grasshoppers and sex shops

I look up into a mirror of bloodshot eyes -

Handles shake, they knock on the window

Of their aquarium, angel fish, and the guys

Hungrily stare from a distance

Peaceful dizziness of the clearest air -

Deep into the city's membrane,

I was beckoned by the smoothest purple skin.

So what if we miss that train