AgneseTreimane

there's a leopard under my stomach and a boy above my back, feral creatures marking my peripheries.    everything is made of hands slipping,    curling, gripping my thighs, of    cold glass on my forehead,       of two sets of bent knees and too much       confined heat and... there's a blue gleam from the front seat that reveals sweat on my spine and dark curls sticking to my shoulders.    the moon comes and this space is crowded,    secret, shrouded by not-quite-midnight,   by four locked