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Alexandra Eames Aug 2020
...best between my quivery, burning thighs,
gleaming and steaming my downy mound,
the air alight with my sighs,
oh, girl,
those eyes!

-By Alexandra Eames
Jessica Hughes Mar 2011
I stood in the freezing cold.
And the rain felt like snowballs.
On a side bench under neon lights, I sat.
With a blue circle surrounding my eye,
when somebody almost knocked my
lights out. Just staring at those who
gawked at me. As I smoked under a
store roof top. This is when I saw you.
You walked on by. To my surprise,
You were as handsome as ever.
"Life must be treating him well."
There was a provoking sound out of
the gaping sky to jump in front of a
bus. You would pay attention.
Maybe stop to see me lying there.
I'm not okay as my quivery voice
claimed. But, you didn't detect the
disturbing echos in the background.
So I hung up the phone.
I, the old worn out dish rag.
I, the door mat to most people.
Still, I thought you would have an
instant flashback. A relapse of our
long history together. Instead,
here I stand in the freezing rain.
And you can't even remember my name.
It's Ada... I uttered. The lighter burning
my fingertips. The expression on your
face. It told our story. I kept walking
through the foggy night.
By Jessica Hughes ©2011
All Rights Reserved by Author
Dark Dream Oct 2021
I see something
Signs from you
That you lingered
Here or there

- my heart stops -

Then Jumps
into that quivery action

Mind kicks in
Reminding me

you aren’t mine

I miss you
Jenish Jul 2020
queasy queen questions
quirky quail's quivery quacks -
quill quietly quit
David Huggett Sep 2018
Me and the Hawk are poor poets. We also are or were somewhat hopeless drinkers. He'd get mad at me just because I liked to laugh. The bar scene was no place for mirth when Hawk had the blues.

So I show him my poem...

Full of  mirth

What is it worth
A smile that beguiles
That is worth while
Joke and laugh
Whole or half (giggle)
Can't you try to see
Better than quivery misery
Yes a belly laugh
Whole or half
Makes you feel so free.

Hawk says, "Humph." He shows me his poem as Hawk is a bit of a writer too.

The Worth Of My Birth

The worth of my birth
Means nothing to me
I have wasted time
And not done a good job
Of living & loving
It all weighs so heavy
On my tortured mind

I close with the poem EXPECTATIONS...

Expectations are the greatest things
They fool you. They rule you.
You live for the next time
To be sublime in the knowledge
You've done well
Those pitfalls that prey on your past
Will never last
If you achieve and believe
I can do this again.

Hawk and me smile and drink our drinks.
Credit to Original Just George

— The End —