Her boots are black like the makeup beneath her eyes. My back prickles with desire when she stands on my hair. I let out a yelp when she cuts it off. We are even and my curls are jagged. My hair stays under her leathered boot, where it belongs. 

L Scully (they/them) is a queer writer and double Capricorn currently based in Madrid. Find them in the ether @LRScully.