We
pried
rusty
nails rotten
boards from cavern mouths
haphazardly sealed, entered hand
hewn catacombs, ignored danger signs, established a
stone cold hermitage sane adults
wouldn't follow if
they ever
noticed
us
gone.

An
old
entrance
abandoned,
shaft access to the
New Almaden Quicksilver Mines
provided organic rouge—cinnabar—added blush
to Adelle's adolescent cheeks
gone pale. Anemic
Bloodless. Cold—
yet soft
as
silk.

My
first
heartthrob,
sweet Adelle's
pallid complexion
mirrored her wild nuts, lemon grass,
blanched berry diet yet mattered not in our retreat
where shadow artifice beyond
spider webs made us
both appear
healthy
and
fit.