My ex and I had separate bedrooms, something that a lot of people questioned, so I wrote this poem.
Same roof - different ceiling
They have two rooms for love making:
his room and her room.
He’s got a place for his feelings;
she’s got a space for her thoughts.
She enjoys her early mornings
with music on a carefree volume;
he enjoys his late nights
reading by bright bedside light.
They don’t believe in synchronizing their body clocks.
Love is not forcing someone who’s filled up to eat.
Love is not forcing someone who’s wide awake to sleep.
And who says you have to have sex at night?
At times when they’ve become more like flat mates
than lovers in the same house,
they make sure to bump into each other
in the kitchen or the bathroom, where they make dates.
But they always go back to their own beds after.
He can’t sleep well next to her dreams;
she can’t sleep well next to his nightmares.
To share a bedroom is like sharing an e-mail account:
constantly being spammed and filled up with junk.
It is giving away the password
to the most secret chamber of your brain.
To keep an I within the we is sexy.
© Louise “Lou Ice” Halvardsson