You’ve moved on
if ever you were truly here
to begin.
You seem happy together.
You make quite the pretty pair.

I think of him sliding upon you tonight
doing the things I never dared,
pleasing you in ways I was unprepared to.
I imagine how
in drunken throes
you stroke his hair
where he has it
and kiss his chest.
I picture the butterfly touches
and feather kisses you provide
and I am undone.

I know you’re better off.
I can see clearly
the perfection
you two could share.
I get it.
I understand your choice,
painting the portrait of you two tonight,
envisioning the joy
you might have,
your delicate strokes,
and then
in solidarity
I stroke myself in turn.

It is not enough
to take the pain away
but it brings something else
to the equation