My Love is Home

My love is home,
One arm browned by the sun. 
Eyes glassed with too many miles
And too much coffee.
His battered suitcase open,
Spilling out his used up clothes.
Logbooks strewn across the bed with
Paper work to be caught up.
Perfume bottles gently pushed aside
To make room for the toiletries of man. 
Boots are off--waiting to be gone again.
Popcorn is popping. 
​My love is home.