breasts

kat reaches down my shirt, pulls out handfuls
of nothing. her mouth a messy tissue,
she doesn’t mean to but
says: you don’t have any
breasts!

and i am flat now, nothing like earth,
now boy, now child, listening
to a word clinical and foreign
like something from her mother and i laugh,

say, did men name our bodies
after meat? or the other way around?
she says: it’s all the same
to them. here there are only girls,

too tender to eat
meat, too tender
to love something
we aren’t