In my dreams
she comes, frostbitten;
blue asphyxiation.
Her lips like dried leaves,
brown,
crisp.
Her eyes streaked with trauma
and
under siege.
She commands me, summoning
my tremors with
her poisoned whistle.
I try to inhale,
but my lungs are missing!
I drop.
To my knees, in panic! They
have escaped!
I cannot find oxygen to grant voice
to tongue. She wrings me out!
Her eyes clamped tight
to my throat, twisting
her frozen corpse
to my
bone.
She has spread; I am cold,
White winter.
Alone.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
your verse pierces within….too strong with emotions that I may not be surefooted to sweep tears around….and this white winter of yours, surely paints a masterpiece of sadness.
your voice is important, you are important…and plenty of emotions you have within, and you have a way to feel it really, like you mean it…
How evocative. Beautiful. You have described my dreams.
This could be me , not only,either winter herself but also the frozen victim gasping for air that the fingers on the end of the long white white arms have grabbbed and gobbled up. My life oxygen feeding the winter corpse she drains my fingers and toes of blood and starves my brain she is a bitch……
Another great poem.
This and the previous post are again powerful and vivid. They really hit home! For me, though, winter is part of a cycle.