Inhibited - she told us so.

We developed an addiction,
A passion for repression.

High on the narrative to stay cohesive,
Naively slipping off our sleeves.

A decade later, I fluster -
To the sound of his home keys,
At his messages I freeze:

He puts a nose on his smileys,
He calls me things I don’t believe.

The vinyls play on in the shower,
I agitate with blue liqueur,
“Those jeans could’ve been bluer.”

Now time gets tighter and norms heavier,
We wish we'd grow younger.

He still calls me beauty,
Willingly joins my company.

But as tasteful as painted blue,
That room gave him the flu.