For a while, the wife and I shared a twin bed. We’re both small people, but even then we couldn’t fit on the twin bed unless we cuddled. Because of this, I have a fond memory of twin beds, mostly because even if you were totally mad at each other, you had to cuddle and somehow, cuddling makes things a little better.
However, my wife doesn’t like beds because they take up a lot of space. I don’t mind sleeping on our futon on the floor (in fact, I do enjoy it quite a bit), but with beds like these, I think even my wife wouldn’t object to build one or two of them. Poetry creates artificial constraints in how one communicates an idea; because of this, creativity flourishes within the constraints. Sometimes, figuring out how to live in a small space feels like interior design poetry. Large, cavernous homes make me feel oddly isolated and alone. In contrast, it’s comforting that while I’m writing, she’s only six feet away, knitting. At least for us, sharing a twin bed or sharing a small room brings us closer together, no matter how we might have felt before.
And if we need some of our own space, there’s always the bathroom.