Seeing You At Your Party With Another Woman

I bought four identical bottles of champagne
and gave one to you
for Christmas.

To the party I brought
three poems about fruit –
one borderline pornographic —
because I couldn’t stop thinking about
what your face would look like when I read it to you.

But things didn’t work out
as they often don’t.

Instead of reading about lovers in bed.
Instead of seeing whether your lips would move in response to my words.
I talked to your mom about her new lake house
and enjoyed it.
And saw you across the room
with your girl
and didn’t feel sad at all.

Love, I am learning, is too big
to just be about what I get out of it.