Crafted from various things, to some I’m quite the fling. Yet to some my mere presence can be frightening. I assure you most have felt me, in some shape or fashion. While many may hold on to me with fervent passion. What am I?

I dance without feet in circles tight, Taming chaos both day and night. I beat the air yet leave no bruise, Turn thin to thick with a metal muse. What am I?

A Norse god had one. The Roman god Spock’s planet was named for had one too. Make it a past tense verb and it is also an adjective that will describe those who overindulge tonight.

I’m analogously stuck in a hypocrite’s eye. I’m athletically held for one to two minutes nigh. I’m skillfully structured to be long, flat and dry.

Three letters I have, but I must not jest, the answer is your main place of rest.