thus do I cuckold

my duvet and me have
come to a loosely monogamous arrangement
at least
I don't tell him
what I’ve been sleeping with and in or under

I just let myself in
and sneak quietly under his gentle lonely skin
and play slightly deaf and cute and nonchalant
in the hope that my adulterous absence
hasn't banished the welcome warmth he offers
(which is what attracted me to him in the first place)

it's true, though, some of the excitement
has gone out of our relationship
the passion too
I don't jump on top of him like I used to
his tog-count is down
he sometimes forgets to wash
I have problems getting up in the mornings
and he no longer takes much of
an interest in what I wear

but, there's a certain
predictable domesticity
to what we've got going
that I’d be loathed to leave for long

still, at night I
harbour unfaithful dreams
of my sleepingbag lover
her purple sheen
and eager lips
the way she guides me inside her
lets me enter her silky depths
and when she has had
her fill of me and
me my fill of her
she mouths and murmurs
such sweet and forbidden lullabies