We sat together on the sagging chairs,
Faded blue with years of window sun.
His leg would move, touching mine, as we ate
Muffins, croissants, birthday cakes,
The sound of teenage shrieks, floating
On the summer air, with the thudding
Of footballs slammed against the painted wall.
He brushes crumbs that feathered both our laps,
So innocent, but also really not.
Another teacher hums a tuneless tune,
As the kettle screams, and steams,
Unaware that in our corner, on those chairs
Stained with tea and deep blue boredom,
A moment’s passed between two colleagues,
The start of something vast and wide,
Far too high to climb, it’s love.