Once, when I laid down, I slept.
Languid hours with Morpheus. On weekends especially, 
Drowsy awakenings, reveries, back into sleep’s arms. 
Coffee not contemplated until well after noon.
Then, came childbirth – later, other cares – that tear me from dearest sleep too soon. Too often.
Still, though we may be regularly ripped apart, know that every REM cycle, I still thee cherish.

For April 10, write a love poem.