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The Deployment and the Heart

Separated by duty and distance
Laying in my bunk feeling the paperbetween my fingers

Knowing your every word, connecting us through time and space

My thoughts drifting to a peaceful time of bliss

Dinner, sheets, and passion running its course

Our laughter filling the streets as we walk gazing at the sky

My eyes fly open, the Sergeant yelling orders, adrenaline spiking

The weight of the armour, the smell of the field, the weight of the gun, anchor mind

Against my chest I still feel you there, folded up in my pocket

A tie to you through the miles that separate us

My defense against the sights in front of my eyes, the deeds of my hands

Wiping my face, is it tears or just sweat?

The roar of the helicopters, the smell of the fuel, like reapers in the field taking us back

Back… back to the bunks, back to the tents, back to the maintenance on weapons

Back to staring at your letters, writing my own, and the waiting…

To the restless sleep, the dreams, maybe this one will be different, maybe of you

Your hands on my body and mine on yours, the pleasure of the evening not yet over

The feeling of being full, the smile on my face, the curling of my toes

Feeling your lips on mine, down my neck, on my breasts

Back arching, hair a mess, body sweating, glistening in the moonlight

The grin on my face as you flip me over pinning me down

Tingling rising inside of me, my muscles contracting, withering under you

Looking into your eyes, the waves of pleasure overtaking me, I can’t hold back

With a scream the damn breaks, the ecstasy washing over me, pulling you tight to me

Holding you close, feeling you inside of me, that fullness, that safety

Holding on to that moment…

Back to the field, the smells, and the sweat

The dust in my eyes, my labored trudge, through the valley

The gun, the pack, the armour, the orders, all keeping my mind in the now

The paranoia and fatigue, the hot sun above, the desert wind… Yet

I reach in my pocket, feeling the paper, knowing you are still there

Doing the same job as I, though flags may be different, countless miles away

Feeling my paper, knowing my words, our only connection

Until the next time we meet…

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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