He's coming on home . . .to me!
The bloody war is over for him. . .finally!
as I sit here waiting impatiently,
hungering to hold close again my man,
who'll leave behind that desert land,
the IEDs he two-stepped in the sand,
those blinding duststorms, the searing heat,
all those unsavory meals ready-to-eat,
bullets bouncing 'round his lucky feet,
dancing to the tune of destruction and death,
nostrils filling with its noxious breath,
challenging his sanity right and left,
the horror he's seen eating at his soul,
locked in his mind war's terrible toll,
as the innocent locals, saddened to see him go,
stand, waving bye-bye; that motley few
wondering how they're gonna make it through
the days and weeks, and the years ahead,
or if they, perhaps, will join their dead,
no longer needing fresh water and bread
in a land devoid of peace and rhyme,
trapped, it seems, in another time,
waving from there with a perpetual smile
for my man, gone now for too-long-a-while,
away from me (sitting here impatiently),
waiting for him to come home to me,
whole or not. . .despite possible PTSD!
Just bring it on home to little ol' me,
eager to hold once more my blessed man
against my breast . . .no foreign land
to him, smooth as silk beneath his hands
calloused and grimied from fighting the foe.
He went where some would never go
even if they were drafted, don't you know.
But, not my man coming home to me,
who'd kill a million insurgents to keep me free
from a life of pure terror and total anarchy,
preferring to snuggle in peace and bliss,
lost in the throes of our warm moist kiss,
safe from war, that soul-sucking abyss,
but only soul-sucking. . . if you let it;
which we won't . . .because we'll just forget it,
at least for a while, you can bet on it!
After he brings it on home to me,
waiting, my heart throbbing impatiently,
we'll make the war go away . . .you'll see.



I love you so much, Honey!
Just bring it on home to me!