It makes me sick to think of you two together,
and it seems selfish, I know, but I wish I could break you apart.

I hate to imagine him,
pulling your hair and scratching your back
how I used to.
Him kissing your neck, your stomach and your thighs
how I yearn to.
Him making you moan his name
how I long to.

So forgive me for seeming so bitter,
but when you tell me you've moved on to greener pastures,
don't expect me to congratulate but rather to curse and cry,
how I want to.