Rime

I miss you more than you can know;
I hid the worst away from you,
I love you more than you'll ever know;
after you left, my blood ran blue
and cold as ice in winter's grasp,
I wept and moaned, shivered and gasped
out freezing breaths that
etched your name in frost upon
my heart, my veins,
my throat, my lungs,
my lips, my tongue,
and then, at last, within the paths that
flensing tears carved down my cheeks
when I had not the strength to speak
a word that was not misery;
My love,
my queen,
you'll never see
how seasons change to a choking
midnight rime-terror dream
without so much as a leeward beam
for shelter from this storm that screams
just for your loss, and only to me.