Letter to Raven

This morning I slept, dreaming of your face. The specific curve of your brow, the definite line of your nose. The length of your hair and the shape of your smile. The colour of your skin around your eyes-and the deepness of soul when you look at me from out of them. The texture of you under my wandering hand. The pressure of your kiss, and the way your beard has of tickling me. Everything uniquely you.
And then I woke up. And there you were. Not kissing me. Not looking at me. Not there with me at all.
Where are you these days? When you kiss me, do you feel me? Do you even know I'm here?
Under pressure...yes. I know that place. I'm there, too. Where do you go to get away from it? Tell me. I want to know.
Laters