Earnestly Yours

if I open my palm
and watch the thin, white fingers
press up against the dead of the bedsheet fabric,
I still won't remember her

how is it that there is a phrase for it?
Like from the very start,
we all knew
and touch was something destined to be lost

between the sheets
and the tenderness of our skins

one we lost with each other
another with ourselves

grief is necessary
even for things you can't remember
but remember grieving for before

come here
remind me what I said
when it meant something

and if I remember the words
remind me what they meant then
for what it means now
may not be the same

remember me, my love

and if you choose not to come-
do as I did-
Tell it to the ceiling at night
things that may not mean much
for anyone who is neither you or me

remember at least the love

for hours, I lied there alone
staring above at the pitch black darkness
and for the lack of stars, considered your laughter

Poetry by Praveen Bhusal
Read 128 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2018-04-21 at 07:54

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You've mixed bukowski with neruda. A combination that strangely works. Though much of the middle meddles the last nine lines uplift the poem to the highest heights. Well done.

Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
From 20 May to 3 June, we asked the community to select their favorite texts on PB, dated from 2005 to today. This text has been nominated to be featured on the home page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting it on our poetry website!

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
So much longing in this. Nicely done.

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
The earnestness does come through. This is a tender remembrance, and it ends with thoughts of laughter, how nice.

Touching and being touched, so necessary to our sense of peace and contentment.