[On Our Way to the Old Horrors] a poem

The cinemas down the
way always play the
old horrors
we can be nothing earthly there,
two indivisible,
our cadence gripping
& telling our pace on the sidewalks,
the city stilling with every step,
the sound of your breathing
dancing with the pulse in
our interlocked fingers


Dontrell Lovet't
from, [If It Be You]