If we could just dance together like clerical assistants in the moonlight, before cuddling close under the star-filled sky to swap underwear requisition forms together as if we were teenagers once more. Then we could see how close to a hole-punch we could place our post-it notes before rushing off together to chase post room distribution trolleys through the endless empty post-finishing time offices and corridors of all our fantasies.
Ah, but, these days we are far too busy for such carefree times. We spend our hours together poring over our mutual stock manifests, and, later, whispering the secrets of double-entry bookkeeping to each other under sweat-soaked A4 sheets of our feint-ruled desire as the tea-break of our yearnings dunks the last of its digestives in our ever-cooling tea.
Once, those were the dreams we had; always bringing love’s small gifts to each other: all receipts, invoices, stock lists and other such knick-knacks and keepsakes of the heart. We would meet, rushing together into stationary cupboards and storerooms, exchanging our kisses and embraces just like businessmen and politicians exchanging well-stuffed plain manila envelopes. Ah, so many of those plain manila A5 envelopes of the soul we exchanged on those tender after office-hours nights together.
Oh, but, you are gone now, like an MBA graduate in the night, off on the audit trail of discovery to small businesses I shall never know.
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