Jun 1, 2023 | 2023 Summer - Bi+ History, Poetry

By Susan White

She leaned against the bar,
brown eyes meeting my green in
a mirror behind the taps. Chin
tilted towards me, shoulders angled
just so, we rested our weight
on our elbows and waited for our
cold pints, dripping condensation
in the feverish milieu. Rival
fiddles swelled and a cascading din
battered against our heat. She
hadn’t touched me but I could
feel her need in the space
between us, a chasm
across which we both
ached to leap.

I didn’t dare

but I awoke.

Susan White is a communications professional and emerging writer from St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador. She is currently studying creative writing at Memorial University.

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