you’re a snuggler a tangler a logistical link of limbs that end up intertwining with mine
you kick me over some of the duvet in the gentlest of gestures and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides.
but as the sun scowls through the window that frames the four post you wrap yourself in the sheets like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness
you natter to the bedbugs the only ones who’ll listen to your curses whilst me? I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal.