You’re here in time for Christmas.
The snow is soft,
crunching under the weight of your heavy black boots.
Your uniform, painted white as you kiss me hello,
highlights the little bits of snow hanging to your eyelashes.
Your lifts are soft, so soft against mine,
and when you pull away, my bright red lipstick stains yours.
We stand under the mistletoe that hangs above the door.
The lights dance around us, welcoming you home.
You set down your camo hat, wipe the snow from your shoes,
breathing in the scents of home,
cinnamon and vanilla, lavender perfume, cherry blossom laundry detergent.
Under the mistletoe when you left and under the mistletoe you have returned.
Things have changed,
but some have stayed the same.
Home from war, just in time for Christmas, this is where we meet again,
under the mistletoe.