The thing I remember most about you
Isn't your skin, lined and rawhide rough
from a life spent being cooked alive by a Kandahar sun.
It isn't your calloused, sandalled feet
or the way you lie to me through the terp.
The thing I remember most about you is the sickeningly sour, hot odour of your body
That has lingered in the back of my LAV since you sat there 5 fucking days ago.