The answers always evade us

He had never met the paralyzed plumber,
the poor wheelchair ridden soul
that fell victim to Polio before he had the chance
to impregnate his young, blushing bride.

The Amish woman talked about him though,
told him how the plumber had come to her,
so that he might learn to make love again
to the woman that had stood by his side
as his legs fell flaccid and useless.

The woman taught him how to feel passion again,
the way that a man does for his wife,
coaxed him through the fear and defeats,
the anxiety and the conflict.

She made him feel whole again,
this prim and proper,
dainty woman made of sugar
and smelling of the wind swept sea.

Polio had taken his legs, but not his soul,
and he knew this woman was true,
that in her breast beat a pure heart,
one that he grew to love until it was time
for him to leave her; he was again whole.

The dress she wore nearly touched the ground,
modesty being a virtue and her virtue being intact,
with her hair in a bun behind her,
twisted around itself to dampen its glow.

He came up behind her as the light clicked off
and the door closed, shutting out the light,
she felt his arms around her waist
and his mouth on her neck
before he pulled her body to his.

Her days spent with the plumber
had kept her attention from him,
he could share her heart, he had learned to,
as long as he knew he was in there too.

It wasn’t her heart that he wanted now,
the taste of her sweat on his lips
and the feel of her skin between his teeth
are the thoughts that roiled in his mind
like storm clouds across her calm sea.

There was a passion between them, hot and burning,
that would see the world in flames,
and them forced beneath the waves of the ocean
for comfort and salvation.

Hands passed over bare flesh as moans
filled the darkened space between mouth
and sweat covered body parts, lips grazing
arm to move to shoulder then to neck,
as her hands reached for his on her thigh.

Heat filled the room, forcing out all thoughts,
there were no plumbers with Polio,
no blushing bride left deprived of love,
there was no one else there or anywhere.

And like all beauty before it,
the moment they shared had to end
so that life could resume its course,
reality be allowed to kill the flames.

The man picked up her shoes in the darkness
and placed them against the wall,
thought about the paralyzed plumber
and how he envied that man,
that he could go home to his love.

The door opened, moonlight filled the room
and the primly dressed Amish woman kissed him,
laid her head on his shoulder as he kissed her neck
one last time before she pulled away.

His envy for the plumber turned to sadness
for himself as a drop of her sweat
fell to the tip of his tongue in the desert air.

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