you leaned over
your sleeve brushing mine.
the lanyard hung from your neck,
your shirt a little too neat.
   mine untucked;
      a little too messy.

red ink
   trailing
from your pen
to my paper,
marking it carefully.

it shifted
so i pressed my hand down,
close to yours,
close enough.

you kept writing.
i kept still.
we said nothing.
but the silence
felt full,
closer than touch.