The moon still watches over us
but it doesn’t glow like it used to
It basked you in twilight
reflecting every smile,
every gaze, every hair
and every inch of skin
like a Monet painting
Before my eyes.
But now,
my prized possession,
is missing.
Hung up in
someone else’s museum,
across the world it seems.
Now I cannot paint
without my inspiration,
my muse.
And I can’t bring my fingers
away from your beauty,
trapped behind
twilight glass.