Missing Love

My nighttime walk has offered A supply of poetry thoughts But not tonight. ‘Twas far too cold, only 1º Celsius And the brain far too foggy For thought. I seem to be walking through A midnight desert where even The stars blink silently back. Nor has the onion moon shed Any of its layers. It shines Silently deep in its own thought. Now there is a blank page in my Mind that cannot be filled by My pen. 'Tis only love has not been exhausted, It never will, it's just been missing For what seems a long time.