Eve Falls in Manhattan
We sat on the bench in lower Manhattan
secretly clasping hands
we ran through the park
in search of a dark place
the tunnel hid our lips touching
I used their sacred money
to pay for the room
and we lay in tangled sheets
in tangled lives
fearing the ten thousand spies of god
fearing the plane ticket
and the dawn
and each insignificant moment
that would lead to the bitter morning

every spring I write
every summer my letter returns
they say you don't exist
and I wonder
do you still search for me?

© J.L.Stanley