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I try to focus in class,

as we arrange our desks in a circle,

and you sit in the center,

with your wrinkled slacks,

with your untied sneakers,

with your hair uncombed,

your eyes embraced by dark lines,

and your hands,

I watch them move quietly as you speak,

the curve of your thumb

delicately bending into your wrist and arm,

your shirt sleeves pushed up,

your slender fingers and

the movement of you.

I lose my train of thought.

because I know I will never be touched by you.

I put my head down quietly

waiting for you to wonder what is wrong-

and I wonder if you even see me there

or if I am just another person passing you

on your way home