Sleep is a jealous mistress,
resentful of your day affairs,
though more enraged
with your nocturnal loves.
She paces the floor for your return,
ill tempered when spurned,
she can locate you regardless of where you are,
and slip a somnambulist potion
into a drink, or vapor the air you breath,
then she has you to herself once more,
rekindling dreams that you both share.
You acknowledge she has you sliced in thirds,
And would gladly take half or more,
But she contents herself in knowing
That in the end she has you to herself
Forevermore.