The Mistress

The clock strikes three,
a feeble beep in the blaring silence,
two grey slits in a sea of black,
somewhere, I can hear sirens.
I lay stretched on my bed,
eyes open and mind closed,
I wait for her to return,
and shut the bedroom door.
This has become our routine now,
I'd wait for her every night,
and she would turn up half drunk,
somewhere around the dawn of light.
She'd come in and stumble a bit,
then strip and climb into bed,
no questions were ever asked,
nothing is never said.
And I'd just stare at her,
my eyes more pensive than sad,
yet I struggle to look normal,
she's all I've ever had.
And she'd smile knowingly,
then kiss me long and deep,
then hold me in her tight embrace,
the mistress I call sleep.