Eve and you were lovers, perhaps you still are, on this rocky planet, circling this star. In the same book shop, in the foreign town, she is going up, you're going down. Scent is overwhelming, language foreign loud, pressed together pleasantly, by the surging crowd. Finally, to the edge, a narrow side-street space, check your watch and wallet, analyze her smiling face. Run a hand through her hair, down her narrow spine, lost in a foreign land, oblivious to time. Kiss at first timidly, then long and slow, each of your hands, know where to go. Where are you anyway, what have you become, nothing looks familiar, what have you done. Walk a few blocks, tell a taxi: "Grand Hotel", there might be a room, only time will tell. Dozen hours later, then for a week or two, your busy travel schedules are ripped askew. That blend of lust and love, foreign deception, up or down the river, or some new direction

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