why is there a centipede in my bed?

My partner is screaming.
There is a centipede in my bed.
It's under the covers, safe in the dark.
Skittering over the escape I offer – a card that lifts gently to the window.
Is the centipede a metaphor?
Is it supposed to provoke a sense of wonder?
It's worked: I wonder, why is there a centipede in my bed?