My Cold-Silver Princess

This question-prompt night, I feel the

Travel-far wind of her passing –

My cold-silver princess moon –

As it gently settles its precious

White-ice powder

On my aching soul and

On the wide-flung desolate

Dark-winter-earth around me.

I always knew she would be

Ruthless-frost mistress,

But why must she turn her

Arctic-jewel face away from me

So swiftly. Can she really

Have thought so very little of the

So-soul-deep secrets I gave her

In those nights, By the Mercy River,

When I had thought we were so

Oyster-pearl close?