snow white

your eyes,
framed with whispered laugh lines,
traces for the future,
the laugh inaudible
but the moment a still-frame
in memory’s photo album.
green-white lines, wrinkles,
yet to be made.
i can see them with my eyes,
i can trace what is yet to come
across your face
streaked lines like
the crooked grooves in my palm.
you remind me of silk,
a charming, cold comfort,
like the crimson petals of poinsettias
or snow.
i can taste it, the snow,
and i see its frost on your lashes.
“no worries,” smiling.
more laugh lines.
you speak of otherworldly places,
heavens.
but i don’t know the life you speak of,
i wish I knew the world you dream of.
“but you do,”
always smiling.
then why? i dare, why?
why this surrender, why visions
but not actions?
do we leave it,
surrender everything to what could be?
do we change?
but your reply is as inaudible
as your phantom laugh,
and all i see
is snow-white.
i see folds of sharp white silk,
tinged with gray,

shadows
between the folds.