If I were to
collect all the stars
to fashion them into a necklace,
you would slap me on the head
and tell me to return them.

If I were to
steal the moon
and turn it into a comb,
you would toss it back into the night sky
right where it belongs.

I would never be able to
turn the sun into a ring.
I would burn myself before touching it.
But I know you'll berate me,
scold me,
while leading my blistered palms
towards the sink.

I do these selfish things,
steal the treasures of the sky,
thinking that they would make you happy.

I forget that you smile
when you share these treasures
with seven billion other people.