write this down.

by Michael King

coq au vin and steak frites,
one of each, swap your
plate with mine, catch
our breath from running
through chilled streets,
laughing, what about this
place, pear martini, stories
of theme parks, what about

my handwriting is
feverish, graphite dusting
the margins, i want to forget
nothing, cannot permit
the blurring of a single
whisker, somehow this time
i am sure it’s important

i have never been one to
run down a road i haven’t
yet vetted, and yet
i am running, chasing
you through city streets
under lamplight, what about
this place, you ask me, my
eyes settling on you, what
about this