
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.