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.