i wandered downstairs,
and found you there –
my boss.
wearing
my friend’s sleepwear.

before i could
muster a word,
you asked about him –
my housemate,
with the angelic hair.

i laughed it off,
but you asked again.
serious.

you filled her coffee mug,
disappeared upstairs,
leaving me unable
to get your nonsense
out of my head.

now i’m rewinding the years,
pulling up the time
i’d have jumped
at the thought of this.

it’s not like that.
it's platonic.
except when i forget
what he’s saying,
shoulder brushing mine,
and wonder —
if i leaned in,
would i be allowed...