Owner of the Stars

They call you the Owner of the Stars. You hold them in your hands like they're sand. You create the constellations and carefully place them in the sky. So then why are you mortal? Your calloused hands and curly hair. Your fragile bones and fatal stare. You belong in space, with the orbiting planets and infinite galaxies. Yet you're right here, a mile or two away, so on this planet you'll stay. You're mine to keep, so while you sleep, create a constellation or two or three and name them after you and me.