He perched on the edge of the stool

A teacup in his hand

Peering out through the window

At the charcoal smudged view.

“What’s in the cup?” I asked.

“The moon,” he replied.

“I got it for you, so you’d love me more.”

He proffered the cup

With sadness in his eyes.

He knew I would never

Take the moon from him

When I had already taken

The stars from another.