New match.
No regrets,
but she aged like a fine wine,
maybe in another life or something,
wife or something—
a thicc anna wintour or something—
fashion week front row,
bad from head to toe you know—
semi-hot boy at berghain,
girl in the midst and mist of a dance
on to friedrichshain;
maybe I’d make it all, take it all—
married with a kid or so, you never know.