Dead Prostitute

Many times i saw those worn high heels  
walking down the street , stumping the melancolic concrete  
the pale sidewalk  
marking the territory...  
 
cynical look of a lost face  
hungry in many senses i must say  
a decaying smile pretending attraction  
intermitent lights , a faded purse...  
 
a half smoking cigarrette tells the story  
the story of a sad woman  
the life of a nocturnal fantasy  
the story of some well shaved legs...  
 
never knew your name  
never talk you  
but the uncountable glimpses were enough  
enough to baptize you "sandra"  
 
the woman with the pink dress  
purple lips  
cheap perfume  
and a smile showered by moonlight  
 
till that day  
yellow strips , flashing lights , 6.15 am  
a body on the asphalt  
a faded illusion...  
 
nothing to see here they said  
its just a dead prostitute  
just a dead junkie  
a human life taken for granted...  
 
sandra! the woman in the pink dress  
a lost soul on the streets.  
but it was the pleasure you use to get  
by selling pleasure the one that took you away...