Missing Love Poem by David Wood

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.