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.