Warm blood runs cold

Poem about a scene in the long story I'm writing. Plz rate!

WARM BLOOD RUNS COLD
His blood feels cold now,
running over my skin.
His eyes, once filled with love and passion,
are now permeated with a dark, drained, yet somehow blank expression.
My tears drip freely down from my face,
spattering his with a destitute chill.
I slide him from my lap,
my fists shake uncontrollably as I stand up.
My voice was shaky as I looked at the corpse and made a promise
that I had already made to others, to my lover:
“Your painful passing will not go unavenged,
this monster will pay with his life.”
The usually painful grinding of sword upon scabbard
made a smirk twitch at the sides of my mouth.
My eyes narrowed to slits
as I tread,
painfully slow,
up to this insane barbarian of a man.
I will finally stop this cycle,
I know the line,
between knowing right from wrong,
and complete insanity.
A smirk twisted my lips,
as our steel swords clashed with a resounding pang.