Tired of your absence, rest is rocky at best. Satin is now coarse and soft is now whelked.
Mind attempts turns to a dreamscape with you, but each cloudlet alights on a xeriscape instead.
Favour exists for a state of pennilessness in a plutodemocracy over sleeplessness in this blues-by-the-cold-crag-sea.
As the urgency of securely safe arms and rising chest-breaths is clear, perhaps only by theurgy will this stone become you, my dear. ; )