We rode the elevator into the earth’s bowel—

meandered paths in cool, wet air. Wove

between speleothems, our guide’s bright

light just beyond our faces. He led us

deep into a spacious mouth where you

& I sat close on curved earth, rounded

from years of heavy tourists. The ranger

told us to await the dark, & I readied myself,

pressed into the damp, back firm against

earthen walls. I blinked into obsidian

oblivion & registered my breath, wiggled

invisible fingers inches from my face. Stilled

my rabbit heart. A palm on my breast, & I heard

a practiced silence, my own unscreaming. Waited

for the touch to end. When light emerged,

you were laughing, your hapless grope a joke.

You always knew how to make me afraid—

I let you get away with all of it.