I could sit here all night with you, you know.
Eating cold noodles from the little Chinese place off 9th and… that street that starts with an A that I keep forgetting.
Blinking at the red neon that says Open, and laughing at the sign on the door that’s translated really,
really badly.
You point to it every time, but it’s getting old. just by the way.
And you insist on taking a pair of chopsticks, even though you can’t use them for crap,
just like you **** at pool. the table is not slanted, you’re just sad you’re not good at everything.
**** it, you are.

I could sit here all night with you, making up constellations with the few stars we can see,
ones we’ll call inappropriate names just to hear you snort.
and pretend we can walk through moving cars and not die like humans,
the disgusting things.
I’ll hold your fingers but not your hands because they’re covered with soy sauce,
and we’ll ignore the 5’ 1’’ noodle shop lady yelling at us because we’re being too loud
and scaring away customers.
Who comes to eat lo mein at 3 in the morning anyway?

I'll stay if you do.