baby—

you’re the calm in the operation desert storm.

pull the tab—

and it’s 1913 again...

Got me craving your voice, whimperin' at meat in a tin.

You pause before pleasure—

And that’s what makes it hit.

Not many men

Read instructions and commit.

Who knew ration life could bring

Such ... delicious little things?

Cigarettes and chicklets—

You give me the fix

Of a man who reads the leaflet

Before the mix .

You could serve me powdered eggs

On a bayonet—

And I’d say “thank you, sir,”

With no regret.

Sweet like Swiss Miss,

Waits for the HISS.

Inspect the seal,

Says "NICE!" and means it.

He acts like he won’t—or might—

Then eats the whole damn feat

...Me?

Unwrap me like a vintage M.R.E.

You warm me slow, hands shaking.

Keep it neat, say please.

Yeah—

You always

...inspect before you eat.

People rush the heat,

Yours: flameless patience.

You check the seal

Before you taste it.

and I'd let you

Inspect all of me—

Just in case.

Watch me like recon,

Study me like intel.

Says I’m "thirst-provoking" gently—

Then storms my shore like Normandy.

Steve, baby...

Even when it’s gross,

It's your sweetness I love most -- no cellophane"

Take a drag of that Chesterfield,

Slide out the M.R.E., Menu 9, Beef Stew seal.

He takes his time,

With a grin on a goddamn mission.

Low crawl in, sweet sniper position.

And when you talk—

It’s like I saw God

In a packet of orange drink .

You say “let’s check this out,”

And my heart starts to sing.

You unwrap each day

Like it’s a sacred thing

And honey, I’d let you

Lick the tray.

So light the smoke,

and lock those eyes...

Unwrap me slow,

No need to disguise.

You’re the kind who reads

Before the bite

and baby—

That’s my appetite.

There are many like it,

But this one is mine.

He drips his obsessions

All over my spine,

Info-dumps

While he asks about mine.

So tell me about that airborne operation,

Boiled candy,

Their malnutrition.

I’ll think ungodly things

While your knife makes that slice. ("mm...NICE!")

Take a drag of that Chesterfield

While the peaches congeal.

He's got a fork, a plan, and permission.

He studies the map,

In sniper position--

Whispers to me it's... "for the nutrition"

You give lockheed martin,

But your hands say worship.

Steve, you make utility

Feel like courtship.

This song’s devoted to you—

Don’t want your muscles or fame.

It's who you are:

One who gives the forgotten

A quiet little star.

You don’t eat to conquer—

You eat to learn.

You tilt your head,

Wait your turn.

Truth is—

The army of suitors

Out here? cruel.

But your care for your craft--

God, it rewrites the rules.

Me?

I just wanna study your brain,

and maybe…

A little parallel play.

I'll keep the fantasies folded tight—

Where you get me on a tray—

And say “NICE!”

Your voice explaining

Why a little bite was okay,

While we lay in our nesting space.

For now, at ease...