the office dreamers true story

So this place is just an office. Sadness in the poems, which I shouldn't read but they are there on the computer, not exactly private. A wistfulness for a perfection, a sensitivity that cannot exist, thoughts of Christ - leading prayer, hands on her head.

Around me pictures of a son and basketball team pinups, mingled with an office calendar and The Little Book of Calm. It seems to me there is perfect calm here already. Orderliness and longing, but no panic, this is a woman who has already known love.

It makes me wonder about sex. Do we all hold the image of Christ in the back of our heads - painful beauty and terrible sadness, thumbs on neck and fingers either side of forehead - held completely? Would that be perfection? Sense of total peace as nerves slowly start to glow and fire off humming, sacred moments. It's all about sex - even tapping out words is touch and memory. Remember what these fingers once did, once felt, once tasted. But it is never just about sex, that is a lie.

So I read on the screen..."On a coach journey I was sitting with the seat next to me free and my head back on the head rest. I felt fingers following my spine then from base of skull to collar bone. So quiet, so subtle I kept quite still except to move my head slightly as the fingers traced my hairline. Moving down they swept across my back as if the chair wasn't there, dissolving to let this ghost close enough to breathe warm breaths against my skin. Then a gentle kiss on curve of jaw and I wanted badly to turn and watch this person touch me but I couldn't move for fear of disturbing that part of my head that was creating this invisible lover. A visitation from an angel, and a true account".