The Nemean Lion Ate My Wish Years Ago

Your first star, little love, was Venus.
I didn’t have the heart to tell you
your wish was lost
orbiting our sun’s falling reign.
They say stars die
years before we ever know — yet their light remains.
You wish anyway.

Our neighbors’ windows look like black spines
in dark matter.
I feel your small breaths suspending my life
between freedom and failure.

What did you wish for? You ask
I didn’t have the heart to tell you:
nothing.